


To Grasp the Sun

by AshenAstartes36



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Brotherhood, Ensemble Cast, Intrigue, Space Marines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24055531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshenAstartes36/pseuds/AshenAstartes36
Summary: Brother Ramos Archimedes, Space Marine Intercessor of the Nova Seekers, a successor chapter claiming to hail from the Salamanders.  Dedicated the the protection of the peoples of the Imperium and the service of the Emperor's will; Ramos battles alongside his many battle brothers against many foes, and uncovers the sinister machinations of chaos first hand as he travels across the galaxy.  See his destiny forged in the fires of battle, victory, death, and defeat.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

The heat was unrelenting. A baptism of holy flames to wash him clean, to burn away his transgressions, and to prove that his loyalty was unquestionable. Sweat dripped from his pores and down his long white hair; now greasy and matted with the ash, blood, salt, and water. There he stood, chained and naked before the chapter master, flames billowing from the exhaust vents surrounding him. This was to be his final test. No longer a greyshield, Brother Ramos, was about to transcend into magnificence personified. Should he survive the trial he would finally receive the honor of bearing the sigil of the Nova Seekers. Should he survive.

“Does it burn, brother?” Chapter Master Xerxes called out from his pedestal. “Describe the flames, their fury, their power, their warmth, their mercy.” His voice bellowed even above the roar of the blazing reactor. Ramos inhaled. The taste of burning plasma scorched his lungs, choking off his response as he succumbed to a fit of coughing. “I could not hear you brother!” The chapter master goaded. “You need to speak up. Tell me of the flames!” Again, Ramos tried to speak, but was silenced by a blast of steam escaping from a faulty pipe. He pulled his face away as the vapors washed over his skin. Snot began to run from his nose, and his eyes began to water. He cried out in agony as it was the only sound he could muster through the smoke and fire.

Ramos did not know how long he had been chained within the reactor room of the battle-barge  _ Ignis _ . Only that he lost count after the first 12 hours. Such was the nature of the trial. Occasionally the Chapter master was joined by a chaplain, a librarian, or one of his captains. They would stare expressionless at the initiate. He wondered what they were thinking. Perhaps they were recalling their own trial and the pain that they endured so that they too could serve the Imperium. Perhaps they were judging him for his weakness. Were they able to speak when they bathed in the raw intensity of solar fire? Did they cry out as he did? Did they show weakness? His agony manifested again in loud mournful cries. 

“Enlighten me brother!” The chapter master shouted once again. “Do you reject the gift of fire? Do you hide your face from the light like a murderer hides his secrets?” He steadied himself and focused on his response.

“I… embrace... their gift!” He cried out. His throat was dry. It pained him even to open his mouth. He could taste the blood from his chapped lips. His tongue like the dried hide of a lizard stuck to the roof of his mouth. One of the sweat drops ran down his face and onto the corner of his mouth. Ramos instinctively lapped it up. The salty liquid provided a minor respite from his torment. He swallowed hard. This was a trap. The sweat and blood had already dried. Now not only was he parched, but he could not rid himself of the taste. He spoke again. “For my Emperor I purify myself! The fires make me pure! I embrace them as they embrace me!”

“Oh?” The chapter master replied. “Are you certain that you do not speak empty platitudes? Do you wish to release yourself from your suffering with your sugary words? The flames know, brother. They know of your intention. They will blaze brighter and hotter should you try to deceive them.” The chapter master gave a wry smile as he stepped down from his pedestal and around the stairs after giving a quick gesture to one of the servitors. Ramos was amazed. Xerxes entered the flames. They washed over his grey and orange armor again and again with each step he took towards Ramos. Certainly the chapter master’s armor would mitigate some of the heat, but the fact that he was completely unfazed was incredible.

“I do not speak sweet lies, chapter master! I onl-” he was cut short by another coughing fit. The chapter master gazed down at him with his shimmering gold eyes. Ramos could not make out his expression through the sweat and tears. He could only see his eyes, piercing through the dark silhouette, boring deep into his soul. Ramos felt undone. Unmasked. For the first time in his life he felt truly naked and helpless. Such was the trial. The chapter master reached down and caressed the young marine’s face.

“It is a hard trial, my brother.” His armored glove gently brushed the hair from Ramos’ head. There was kindness in the gesture, but also strength. The kind of strength that could crush Ramos’ skull. It was a strength forged by years of unending hardship, countless centuries of battle, victory, death, and defeat. “Such is the life of the Astartes.” He pulled his hand back and reached into the fire, gently stroking it, as if it were the hair of a beautiful woman. His movements were gentle and sincere; elegant even. The chapter master began to wade through the fire, almost as if he were dancing with it. Mesmerized with its heat and beauty, and likewise the flames danced back. They ran across his body in wave after wave, matching his movements, consuming him in their embrace. “The fire warms the cold.” Embers began to skitter about his breastplate. “It protects the weak.” Flames began to encircle his legs in swirling wisps climbing his body with primal veracity. He stopped, now totally consumed in their radiance, and stared back at Ramos. His eyes unchanged. “Most importantly, they provide light and make manifest chaos’ cruel intent.”

“I see.” Ramos spoke. “I understand.” The chapter master stepped forward with a half-cocked eyebrow. 

“Do you?” Ramos steeled himself one more time as he spoke, now with newfound vigor, though still through pained gasps.

“The flame is our duty! It defines us. It guides us!” He inhaled again. The corners of his vision were growing dark, his legs felt as if they might collapse. “It is our Emperor’s will! It guides and directs us!” The chapter master cocked his head. He was not expecting that answer, nevertheless it impressed him. It was certainly not the answer that he gave the day of his trial. Ramos’ statement was true. It cut through to the heart of what it meant to be a Nova Seeker. It was  _ his _ truth,  _ his _ guiding flame. The trials of the nova flame had spoken to him. It resonated deep in the core of the young marine. He was ready. The trail was over. The chapter master raised his hand to motion for the exhaust vent to be closed and the trial’s end, but Ramos continued speaking. “We are also the flame!”

“Pardon?”

“We guide and protect. We-we protect the people. We protect-” he was beginning to stumble over his words. “We prot- protec- we,” he fell to his knees. The hot steel burned into his bare skin and he could no longer see through the darkness. Ramos fought to keep his eyes forward. To keep his mind and body conscious. “We protect the Imperium, as the Emperor protects us!” His voice echoed through the halls, no longer a whimper. It was a triumphant declaration. Three days within the furnace had passed. Ramos had succeeded in his trial, he had been forged into a proper astartes.

“Aye.” The chapter master replied. “That we do.” With a swift motion his hand cut through the air, and the exhaust vents closed with a mechanical  _ shunt _ . Ramos inhaled the now breathable air and his chains were released. Without their support he collapsed in a heap before the chapter master. He could not stand, his body had betrayed him. His breathing slowed from pained wheezing, into gentle, rhythmic inhalations. The chapter master gestured once again to the servitor. “Bring him water and a blanket.” It disappeared into a corridor without a word. The chapter master looked down at the unconscious man. Another success. This space marine would serve him well. He had spirit. Brother Ramos understood, perhaps better than most veterans, what it meant to be one of the Emperor’s chosen. 

“I-I,” Ramos spoke. Unfathomable, he was still conscious. “I am sorry. I failed.” The chapter master smiled. This one  _ did _ understand the flames and their burden. 

“And why would you say that?” He replied. “Because I stopped the test? Because you fell to your knees? Why would these things warrant your failure?” The servitor returned. The chapter master swaddled the man in the blanket and lifted him into his arms. “Drink, brother.” Ramos complied and began to ferociously slurp the water. It spilled out all over him and onto the ground as he lost control of his instincts. He began to cough and choke. Moments later another servitor returned with a gurney, and the chapter master gently placed his battle brother into the bed. “You have not failed this day, brother. You may rest now. Regain your strength, for you are now one of us, Brother Ramos.”

Ramos’ eyes widened. He had completed his trial. He was a grey shield no longer. “Thank you, chapter master,” he replied. “I will serve you well.”

“That you will, brother, that you will.” He gestured again to the servitor. “Take him to the medical bay and treat his burns.”

“As you command,” the servitor replied with a metallic expressionless voice. Ramos relaxed into the bed as he felt himself be wheeled away from the reactor room. Chapter Master Xerxes watched him until the doors slid shut behind the servitor. He returned to the pedestal and flipped a switch to bring up the vox caster. Static filled the speaker for a brief moment before giving way to the sound of a rough, grizzled voice.

“Master Xerxes, I presume the trial is finished?”

“Yes, Captain. I am pleased to tell you that it is. Brother Ramos will be joining the 4th company. He was exemplary. I will notify him of his position as soon as he wakes.”

“This is excellent news. I will alert the company sergeants immediately. Thank you once again.” The Vox went silent. Only the hum of the engines remained to keep Xerxes company. He inhaled, and for the first time he noticed the smell of ash and burnt flesh in the room. 

“ _ The flame is our duty. _ ” He chuckled. “I suppose it is, young one. I suppose it is indeed.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

“Incoming!” The guardsman screamed as a blight grenade detonated within his trench. He leaped out of the way just in time, but Private Murlock was not so fortunate. He watched in horror as the young private grasped at his throat in agony, straining to breathe, but tasting the caustic mist of Death Guard plague brew. His skin boiled with blisters and puss sacks as his eyes began to bleed. He cried out for the Emperor to save him, but just as he reached the apex of his suffering his deathrattle was drowned out by the laughter of a plague marine, gleefully leaping onto his remains with a stomach churning  _ squelch _ . 

“What a delightful sound!” The plague marine bellowed. “Like trouncing through the mud on a rainy day! Squish, squish, squish!” The bloated corpse of Private Murlock had burst as the marine began to stop about his corpse. His innards had already congealed into a single, disgusting mass. The guardsman turned to flee, but he tripped on the body of another one of his allies, this one blown apart by a bolter. He scrambled backwards and brought his lazgun to bear. The plague marine cocked his head quizzically. “Do you intend to shoot me?” He spread his arms in a wide, open stance. “By all means! Don’t be shy!”

The guardsman’s eyes widened in horror. It was pointless, he knew it, and so did the plague marine. However, he still reached for the trigger. He could barely control his arms as they shook with raw panic. The lazgun rattled as he struggled to keep it pointed at his enemy.  _ I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die!  _ These words pervaded his mind and clouded his actions. He was helpless. He was an embarrassment. He  _ was _ going to die.

The plague marine sighed. Alas, the game was over, and this simpering human had lost all will to continue. He reached to his pack and clutched a crude piece of steel, resembling something similar to an axe. Slowly he lumbered towards his target. The guardsman desperately tried to climb to his feet, but his lazgun’s sling had become tangled on the bodies of his fallen comrades. “No! No! No! Let go! Please let go!” The mountain of rotten flesh and rusted steel continued towards the poor human. He let out a guttural laugh.

“Are we to play tag now? I do like that game!” The guardsman frantically fumbled with the strap maneuvering it around the remains of his allies. With one final effort he had freed it and turned once again to run, but was stopped with the cruel reality that he was at the end of the trench. There was nowhere to go. He  _ had  _ to fight. He  _ would  _ die. There was truly no escape. He whipped around to face his enemy. More plague marines and pox walkers poured into the trench. Their laughs permeated the air. This was no longer a battleground, it was a cruel, sadistic playground of death. “Nowhere to run. You’re it!” The plague marine lifted his axe above his head. The guardsman closed his eyes and pointed his lazgun at his foe in one futile effort to survive. He squeezed the trigger and waited for death.

_ Thukrack!  _ A noise cut through the air, and for a moment the laughter ended. Was he dead?  _ Thukrack!  _ Another blast, this one even closer than the first.  _ Thukrack! Thukrack! Thukrack!  _ Three more in a rhythmic, snare-like, burst. He opened his eyes to see the plague marine standing a few meters away. Death Guard’s stance was dumbfounded and had the guardsman been capable of seeing his expression, he was certain that the plague marine was no longer laughing, but rather was surprised to find five new gaping holes in his armor. Ooze poured from the holes and he staggered backwards.  _ Thukrack!  _ One final sound, and the head of the Death Guard marine popped, much like one of his blight grenades, and his brain matter spewed all over the trench. He collapsed with a resonant  _ thud. _

“Move aside guardsman!” Suddenly the young guardsman was cloaked in shadow as a new piece entered into the game. An Astartes! “Stay behind me. Do what I say and you will survive. Do you understand?” His voice was calm, comforting even. The guardsman shook his head in affirmation. “Good. Keep your head down and follow me.”

“Y-yes sir!” He swallowed hard. By the Emperor’s will he was saved. The Space Marine took a step forward, followed by another chorus of concussive  _ thukracks.  _ He heard the sound of a pox walker shriek as it was blown apart by bolter rounds. Another two steps, and more bolter fire.

“Hit the deck!” The guardsman complied, leaping backwards and covering his head. Another blight grenade. He turned to see the space marine still standing, but he had dropped his bolter. No, the bolter had been damaged by the blast as well! The marine had attempted to deflect it’s trajectory using the bolter as a sort of club, but had failed, causing the grenade to clog the holy bolt rifle with acid and rot slime. He clutched his helmet trying to tear it off. The spewing liquid was melting through it as well. In one violent motion the space marine tore off the helmet revealing a dark face, with long white hair, a trimmed white goatee, and blazing orange eyes. Three pox walkers and another plague marine stood in front of him. The space marine drew his combat knife, squaring himself up against his foes. “Stay back.” He said assuredly to the guardsman.

The plague marine lifted his bolter and fired.  _ Shlunk! _ In one swift movement the space marine had ducked below the first shot while grabbing the throat of the poxwalker with his free hand. He lifted it in front of him as a shield, it struggled in vain to free itself from his mighty, mechanical, grasp.  _ Shlunk! Shlunk!  _ Two more bolts exploded into the chest of the pox walker, blasting apart its body into crude chunks of flesh. The space marine charged forward, knocking the other two poxwalkers to the ground. “Handle them!”  _ Shlunk!  _ A fourth round blasted off a sizable piece of the space marines shoulder plate before he slammed into the plague marine, driving his combat knife deep into his breastplate.

The two poxwalkers stood and began to shamble towards the guardsman. This he _ could  _ handle. He took several, measured steps backwards, and lined up his sights on the closest poxwalker.  _ Zichu! Zichu! Zichu! Zichu!  _ He fired again and again with his lazgun. Each ray of laser fire burning a small hole into the flesh of the poxwalker. “Come on! Die already!”  _ Zichu! Zichu! Zichu!  _ Another volley splashed against the first poxwalker with little effect. The guardsman adjusted his aim, this time focusing on the head.  _ Zichu!  _ One final shot and the poxwalker was no more! It unceremoniously dropped to the ground. However, he was hardly safe. The second had closed enough distance and lunged for his lazgun. Normally he would have been able to break free from the decayed creature, but with his focus split he was unable to gain the leverage he needed.

Meanwhile, the space marine and plague marine were locked in a brutal struggle, neither with a weapon any longer, they had resorted to hand to hand combat and were currently fighting for control on the ground. The guardsman would receive no help from his savior this time. He released the lazgun from his grip, and intended to flee when he spotted out of the corner of his eye the liquid remains of Private Murlock. More importantly, he noticed Private Murlock’s plasma gun! It still glowed with that familiar blue-green hue, and perhaps was still functional.

He sprinted for the gun with the poxwalker in slow pursuit. It was still covered in human residue, but the guardsman did not care. He shouldered the gun. “Come on! Work, damn it!” He squeezed the trigger and heard it hum with life.  _ Brrrpow! _ Before he could celebrate it erupted in a blaze of plasma sending a hot ball of blue flames into the poxwalker, melting it’s torso in a brilliant explosion of white plasma! It dropped. “Yeah! Back to the warp with you-” he stopped as his focus shifted to the brawl happening nearby.  _ The space marine!  _ The Death Guard marine had pinned the poor astartes, and was reaching for his skull.

“You will make a fine grenade, boy!” The astartes struggled against his aggressor, doing all he could in an attempt to protect his head. “Father Nurgle will be delighted to see all of the toys I will make from your corpse!” The space marine was able to throw a heavy jab into the face of the plague marine, knocking his helmet from his head, revealing a grotesque, twisted mass of pustules, maggots, and septic sores. More horrifying, however, was the twisted grin that crossed his face. It was not a smile of victory, or the smirk or condescension. No. It was joy. Pure, elated, sacrilegious joy. Revolting.

The marine attempted to throw another punch, but this time it was blocked and his arm was forced to the ground. “No more of that!” The plague marine laughed. From this position the marine was totally pinned, unable to fight back in any capacity. He attempted to free himself, but it was useless. He was defeated. The flame died today. Such was the life of the astartes. He closed his eyes and braced himself for his inevitable death. The plague marine slammed his head into the astartes’, bloodying the space marine’s nose. The plague marine cackled in joyous victory as he slammed his forehead again into his helpless foe. “What glorious fun we are having, brother!” The space marine spit out a wad of congealed blood into the Death Guardsman face. “A gift! How kind,” He chittered as he landed another headbutt! The marine could feel himself blacking out, his body had lost its strength. He braced for the deathblow. But it never came.

_ Brrrpow!  _ The plague marine’s grip loosened as a bolt of hot plasma blasted off a piece of his breastplate. His vision snapped to see a guardsman 10 meters away charging a second plasma gun shot. This distraction was enough! The pinned combatant regained his senses and forced the plague marine off of him. He retrieved his knife from within the plague marine’s ribs, pulling it out in one, snapping movement before driving it back into the side of his head. The chaos warrior’s body fell limp on top of the space marine. The astartes hefted the body off of him before turning to see a very surprised guardsman with a smirk painted on his face.

“I suppose we are even, guardsman.” The space marine smiled.

“Yeah.” He replied. “I guess we are.” The excitement had overwritten his fear. “I’m Private Typhos. Sir.” He extended his hand. The space marine smiled at the gesture.

“Pleased to meet you, Private Typhos. I am Ramos Archimedes, of the Nova Seekers. You should be proud of what you have done today. I know the Emperor is.” Ramos took the guardsman’s hand. Typos was shocked at how gentle his grip was. Sure there was a repressed strength behind it, but the fact that his hand was not broken from shaking hands with a bonafide space marine was baffling. Ramos’s head suddenly snapped right. “Get down!” Ramos shoved the guardsman head to the ground, as several stubber round flew into the trench. They deflected ineffectively off of his chest and shoulders. Another wave was charging in, and they had maybe thirty seconds to prepare. “More incoming, ready yourself!”

“Aye sir!” Typhos replied, snapping his plasma gun to his shoulder. “What would you have me do?”

“Watch my back,” he said with a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

In spite of all odds, and heavy losses, the Imperium was victorious. As the sun set Ramos and Private Typhos navigated the intricate maze of trench work as they made their way back to the command post just to the south of their battle line. By the time all was said and done over 3,000 guardsmen, and another dozen Nova seekers had died on the steppes of Caspia. All in all they had fought well. Daybreak would bring more fighting and death, but for now, the weary soldiers of the Imperium were content to rest and celebrate their victory.

"It's beautiful isn't it, Typhos," Ramos mused as he looked out to the skyline just beyond the mountains. "Were it not littered with the bodies of the fallen, it would be a masterpiece. The way the wind flows through the wheat grass, like wave after wave of glorious song. Imagine it was unsullied by the taint of the warp. Imagine the graceful music of nature, untouched by our war. Perhaps after our victory it may return to that state." Typhos stared at Ramos, somewhat baffled and profoundly unprepared for his musings. He didn't entirely understand everything Ramos had said, but he got the gist of it. The hills were pretty once you looked past all of the dead bodies and wrecked vehicles.

"I guess so," he replied in earnest. Ramos looked down at the young guardsman. This human had saved his life. His smile faded somewhat. It was the duty of a Nova seeker to protect mankind, and yet he was saved by this man. He was grateful, of course, life was preferable to death in this situation, however there was a dissonance in his mind. "You think we got a fighting chance?" Typhos asked.

"Pardon?" He was caught off guard by the directness of the guardsman's question.

"I mean, do you think we can win?" Typhos clarified. "I'm just curious what a space marine thinks about the situation." Ramos considered the battle realistically. By his estimate, they were greatly outnumbered, however they were also dug in deep at multiple choke points. If the other battlefronts had been as successful as the northern trench line, then victory was assured. He glanced back to the other guardsmen and marines making their way back to base. Spirits seemed fairly high as well, it was doubtful that there would be a route any time soon.

"I would say we certainly do. However, I would need to hear of the other fronts before I made an educated guess." He pondered the thought. "Consider this, our trench lines were on the furthest flank of the defensive line. Likewise, we had the fewest fortifications when compared to the other battle groups." He hefted himself out of the trench and extended his hand to Typhos who was followed by a few other guardsmen. He assisted them as well. "Now, if the enemy sought to crush our command post with overwhelming force, they would have directed their forces at the center of the defensive line, which had the greatest number of resources dedicated to its protection. Their losses would be substantial, however they would have the ability to end the conflict in a single decisive strike. Such a tactic would disrupt our chain of command and split our forces."

"Okay, so is that what you think their plan was," Typhos replied. Ramos paused, contemplating his response.

"No. I do not actually." He said. "It's far too risky for the payoff. Failure would result in critical losses, and victory would be costly as well." He turned around and analyzed the battlefield looking out again to the steppes. "I believe they were testing our defenses and looking for any weak points in our fortifications. Tomorrow will bring the worst fighting assuming they do not attack tonight. They will need time to compile what they have learned, and devise a strategy; and we will do the same." Ramos suddenly became lost in thought. He visualized various possibilities, strategies, and army compositions. What were their weaknesses? How could they be overcome? "If they are wise they will attack our flank with a highly mobile force, moving swiftly across our battle lines in an attempt to cut a path straight through to our command center and eliminate key strategic targets along the way. Similar to a pincer maneuver, but rather than fight us at our flanks they will attempt to bypass our trenchline entirely and separate us from our leadership."

Once again Typhos was perplexed by the space marine's words. He understood everything that Ramos had said at face value, and once it was explained he couldn't find reason to disagree with the analysis. However, he was baffled by how Ramos had reached his conclusion. "How do you figure all of that?"

Ramos paused again, musing over the thought. "Because it's what I would do."

"What?" Typhos responded, slightly confused.

"Were I in command of this Death Guard warband, that would be the plan of attack I would take." He pointed out to the trench maze. "Building a defensive line as we have provides ample protection from attackers, and given the vastness of the steppes we are granted ample surveillance over the land. However, there is a major flaw with our strategy." He guided Typhos' attention as he spoke, illustrating the hypothetical attack that he would lead, were he in command of the Death Guard warband. "We are immobile, for the most part, which is fine if we are fighting infantry, like we were today, or a slow armored column. Even if we are outnumbered, which we are, we would be able to lay down volley after volley of fire thinning their ranks until they reached out battle lines."

Typhos could see what Ramos was illustrating and how it had played out that day. He hadn't really taken the time to notice the mounds of bodies and the menagerie of wreckage produced by the day's fighting. Scores of broken down Death Guard Rhinos and Land Raiders sat in smoldering piles, and surrounding them were the remains of thousands of pox walkers, plague bearers, and another fifty or so plague marines. "Yeah, I think I see what you are saying."

"It was a rather costly attack they made, but this was but a fraction of their force. I wager by the time morning breaks, and we hear the engines of war start again we will have a far more terrifying foe to deal with. We will not have the luxury of keeping our foe at a distance. They will close in at incredible speed, and before we can properly ready ourselves it will be too late." Typhos' eyes widened. What did he mean 'too late'? Did he think that they were going to lose? He had said earlier he thought they had a fighting chance, and now he was acting like they had already lost! But before he could dwell too deeply on the thought, he was snapped back to the present by a booming voice like a thunder hammer.

"Brother Ramos!" Ramos and Typhos turned immediately. Standing before them was a hulking figure in an ancient suit of terminator armor. The chassis was covered in ornate carvings and inscriptions, though Typhos could not make out what any of them meant. His eyes burned with fury, and his face was covered in deep set scars; hand firmly grasped a glowing orange power sword that seemed to warp and melt the air around it. "Brother Ramos, where is your bolt rifle?" Ramos did not flinch, but Typhos could tell that his demeanor had changed. His confidence was somehow dampened, though not entirely gone.

"Destroyed, Lieutenant Ramses." Ramos averted his eyes from his commanding officer in shame. "I fought most of the battle with my side arm and a combat knife." Ramses' eyes seemed to blaze with contempt for Ramos' statement. "I will pray for forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" Ramses spit. "Only those who have sinned should pray for forgiveness." He approached Ramos with heavy, lumbering steps. "Did you desecrate the holy bolter? Did you mean to bring insult to our artifice." He raised his storm bolter and pointed it at Ramos' head, "because if that is the case I should execute you where you stand for your blasphemy." Typhos was shocked. Such threats were not uncommon from the commissars to troopers like him, but never in his wildest imagination did he think that the noble astartes could be subject to the same punishment. "Is it blasphemy, brother Ramos? Or are you incompetent?"

"No!" Ramos replied, matching Ramses' gaze. "It was destroyed alongside my helmet by a grenade blast. I attempted to retrieve it after the battle had concluded, but it was beyond salvaging by that point. It was tainted! I thought it best to leave it." Ramses slowly lowered his storm bolter, still snarling at his subordinate.

"Then it was incompetence."

"Aye, sir." Ramos once again averted his eyes. "It was incompetence." Ramses did not budge and he did not smile. He took no pleasure in humiliating his men, and he took less pleasure in hearing of their failures. Their failures were his failures. Their incompetence was his incompetence. However, he was just. Perhaps it was the ecstasy of victory clouding his judgement, but he was feeling merciful. He would allow Ramos the chance to redeem himself.

"How many did you slay?" He inquired in a slightly softer tone.

"I killed 3 traitor marines!" Ramos replied, "and countless of the chaos spawn, though I do not know their numbers." Three plague marines. That was not an unimpressive number for someone of his status. Ramses knew it. He looked towards Typhos, who immediately shrank under the oppressive gaze of the terminator.

"Is it true, guardsman? Did you see this." Typhos pondered his response carefully. He could feel the blood rushing from his face. If this terminator was willing to kill one of his own for losing their firearm, then he was more than willing to kill him for giving an unsatisfactory answer.

"No, Lieutenant," he responded with a quivering voice. "He did not." Ramos was winded, how could Typhos say such a thing? "He killed 4 of the heretic marines, by my count, sir." Typhos braced for impact. It was a true statement, but he felt as if it would get him killed.

"Four?" Ramses snapped back to Ramos. "Is that true?"

"I suppose, I lost count in the heat of the battle." Ramos replied. "If anyone would know, it would be Private Typhos here, as he was by my side since the battle started." Ramos snuck Typhos a grateful glance. Ramses did not notice this, but his scowl remained.

"Your false humility will gain you little respect from me Ramos" he said, taking another step forward. Their faces were mere inches apart. "I am not impressed by your demeanor, golden boy. You should remember that the next time you try to lie to me." Ramos' gaze was still averted. "However, I will not scoff at your capabilities as a warrior. You did satisfactory work today. I will requisition you a new bolt gun." He turned away, and Typhos could finally breathe; Ramos likewise relaxed.

"Thank you sir, I will take that into consideration in the future."

"Good." Ramses replied, not stopping his stride. By this point two other terminators had joined him on his flanks. "Return to your quarters and find a replacement for your paldron, you will need it." Ramos had completely forgotten about the damage his armor had sustained. He looked down to see that though it was still functional, his armor was in a poor state. "Once you have completed that task you need to report to the command center for new orders."

"New orders?" Ramos replied.

"I do not make it a habit of repeating myself," Ramses barked. "Do as I have directed."

"Yes Lieutenant. Understood." Ramos relaxed slightly as Ramses rejoined the rest of his cadre. Typhos similarly softened, but Ramos was still conflicted. Once Lieutenant Ramses was out of earshot he spoke. "Typhos, why did you tell him that I killed four heretic marines?" Typhos was perplexed, he assumed that Ramos would be grateful for his assistance.

"I'm not sure what you mean," He replied. "I said it because it was true. I witnessed you kill four of the big ones."

"No, the one you saved me from was yours to claim." Ramos frowned as he looked down to his ally. Typhos was baffled. Somewhat honored, but baffled nonetheless. "Though I dealt the deathblow, you would have felled him with a second shot from your plasma gun. That much I can assure you." His shame began to set in again. He had lost his bolter, and he had to be saved by a human. A dread filled him, crushing him within his armor. Typhos could see it. The dark shadow looming over this proud warrior. It was that moment he realized something. The real difference between him and Ramos, was not the genetic augmentations, or the training, or the powered armor, or even the hundreds of years worth of combat experience. It was their pride. For Typhos the nature of battle was to survive to fight again, and to keep surviving with hope that there could be a day where the fighting ended. However, for Ramos, battle and victory defined his very soul. Everything was a trial to be overcome without the help of lesser beings like Typhos.

The two remained silent for a time. They had reached an unspoken understanding. Ultimately, they would really never comprehend the burden of war through the eyes of the other. The fragility of human life dictated that life was short, and that one should survive and experience as much as fate would allow. To regret failure was to rob oneself of the fleeting joy that the present provided. However, the unending tribulation of the trans-human astartes dictated that regret and failure would haunt them for eternity, and until their gruesome demise they would carry the weight of that regret. Day by day. Year by year. Forever, should fate's cruel wind allow. Such was the price of being the Emperor's finest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

  
  


Stagnant. Humid. Bitter. Even with his rebreather the nauseating stench of Nurgle’s corruption cut deep into Brother Cavill’s lungs. He looked down into the ruined city from his cliffside perch. The air echoed with the moans of the legions of Caspia’s damned. Norefare was not the first of the cities to fall, but with any luck Cavill prayed that it would be the last. He could see that the forces of chaos had already started to erect great monuments to their profaned demon lords. Atop many of the buildings hung swaths of bloated corpses all rotting away and contaminating the air with their foul stench. Despicable. He peered again into his oculus scanning around the parameter of the city. It was obvious that the Death Guard were relying on their numbers to mitigate risk of a counter attack, and after seeing the tens of thousands of cultists, plague bearers, and pox walkers roaming the city streets. Any traditional counter attack would be costly. However, Xerxes’ tactics were far from traditional.

He glanced down into the plains surrounding the city and took mental note of the various friendly icons slowly creeping through the decaying wheatgrass, obscured by their camo-cloaks and the darkness of a moonless night. There were five fire teams in total, each with anywhere from three to six marines. Cavill could not determine whether he was grateful for the role he would provide in this operation, although he did understand it’s necessity. He and a handful of others would provide a visual of the battlefield, relay information to the fireteams should new intelligence be acquired, and provide fire support should it be needed. By the Emperor he prayed it was needed. Cavill felt uncomfortable in his perch. He wished for nothing more than to leap into the wheatgrass and join his brothers; to eliminate targets with brutal and clinical efficiency. He belonged with them. The fire in his belly waxed and waned with the anticipation of a fight. It was starved for kindling that only slaying the enemies of man could bring.

“Brother Cavill,” Ramses’’voice cut through the vox. Fireteam Anubis has reached the first checkpoint and has a visual on the motorpool. Do you have a visual?” Cavill shifted to the motorpool. It was a series of crudely built structures on the outskirts of the city. Within were several squadrons of bikes, a half dozen buggies, and 3 captured chimera troop transports. The fortification was guarded on all sides by a score of cultists, each overseen by a plague marine, though there was no telling how many more waited inside the various buildings.

“Aye,” Cavill responded. “Their numbers are great. No blind spots as far as I can see.” There was a long pause on the other end of the vox. Cavill adjusted his oculus to get a closer view of the encampment. It was only a few kilometers from the main city, and once fighting erupted, Fireteam Anubus would have only minutes to complete their assignment and extract before reinforcements would arrive. 

“Copy. Continue providing oversight on the encampment. We will hold our position here in the meantime.” 

“Affirmative.” Cavill sighed. This counter offensive was going to be fruitless. He wanted to believe in the Chapter Master’s plan, but it seemed too ambitious. Xerxes had overcome many overwhelming odds in the past, however leading fewer than thirty of his battle brothers into the very heart of the enemy staging ground was, in short, a stretch. Again and again he attempted to piece together the many facets of the operation, but the few soldiers that they had brought would hardly be able to deal any kind of meaningful destruction to the Death Guard. This was a waste of time and resources. They should have spent the night hours bolstering their defenses and digging in deeper. However, despite his protestations, he trusted Xerxes. The chapter master had rarely led them astray, and clearly this operation had some greater purpose. 

Various notifications began to spring up across his hud. The other fireteams were also in their positions. There was a pause in activity as they all waited further orders from command. Cavill was anxious. Not from fear, but from his desire to be done with this operation and to to continue fighting on the front lines. The Vox crackled to life again, this time with the calm and measured voice of the Chapter Master.

“Fireteams, hold your fire until you are given the signal.” There was a quiet affirmation from each of the squads, but something occurred to Cavill. They had all been briefed on this operation, the points of interest, and their strategic value. However, he did not recall the mention of any sort of ready-fire order from their briefings. Cavill scanned around to the other fireteams. Each was positioned at different outlying supply depots, outposts, and defensive installations just out of sight from any security keeping watch. They all gave quick affirmation of the hold-fire order, followed by the eerie discomfort of radio silence. A warm breeze blew through the field. Within his armor Cavill felt nothing but his heartbeats, but the taste of sour rot persisted nonetheless. That sourness could bleed into any material and could nauseate even the stoutest constitution. Such was the overwhelming and terrifying power of the warp.

Suddenly several flashes of light erupted from the fields accompanied by a sound not unakin a thunderclap. First five or six, then ten, then twenty, then even more. As his eyes adjusted Cavill could see the Chapter Master’s plan come into fruition. “Terminators.” He whispered. They emerged from the lights of their teleportation homers and lumbered enmasse towards the city through the center of the field. They held their fire marching as a single unit challenging the Death Guard with their silent march. Cavill scanned over the mass of soldiers before stopping at the front of the marching line. The Chapter Master was leading this attack!

Xerxes carried himself with elegance and dignity despite wearing heavy, ancient, powered armor and standing a head taller than the others. He moved completely unhindered and wielded a massive flaming blade in one hand, and an ornate combi plasma in the other. Though his weapons were drawn, they were not readied. They hung loosely at his sides and swayed with each of his steps, the heat from the blade setting the wheatgrass ablaze as he waded through the fields. Many of the other terminators carried similar flame weapons and they mimicked their leader, setting their own fires as they went. The embers rose and moved around them, and slowly the flames began to materialize a blazing wall of fire. Their very presence begat a wave of destruction; an omen of what death they would bring upon the enemies of man.

Alarms began to blare from within the city, accompanied by the wails and moans of Nurgle’s chosen preparing for battle. They slogged out in waves to meet the terminators. The first, a mob of plague bearers and pox walkers. The second, nearly a hundred plague marines marching behind the mindless hoard in loose, but orderly formation. The third wave contained twenty profaned terminators led by a hulking armored figure of their own. His armor was covered in wide holes from eons of battle and maltreatment; and from within each of the holes poured out the creature’s rotting entrails. With each step they took the wheatgrass rotted away and the air began to hang with visible smog from their heretical god. Conversely smoke had begun to billow from the marching army of the Terminators and the flames began to rapidly spread across the fields. Xerxes would burn away all life before the taint of the warp could tear apart it’s beauty, thus halting the cancerous wave of decay that would spread across the Caspian countryside. To burn was better than to let rot.

The terminators stopped but fifty meters short of the first wave and readied their weapons. Xerxes slowly raised his sword pointing it directly at the Death Guard’s leader. He was uninterested in the lowly pox walkers and plague bearers. No, he sought the blood of their champion. The Vox crackled to life once again and the calm voice of the chapter master spoke. “Begin the attack.” The night air filled with the orchestra of bolter fire, flamers burned away swaths of the first wave of death guard, and the Chapter Master charged forward with a small cadre of elite terminators at his side. They moved through the ranks swiftly, cutting away the expendables with little effort before reaching the second battle line. It was here that they met their first great obstacle.

A squad of plague marines fired a volley of bolter rounds at the Xerxes, but their shots were intercepted by his terminator bodyguards and their storm shields. Before they could reload for another volley they were blasted into soupy remains by his combi plasma, their bodies exploding into brilliant orange lights. Several more moved to surround the formation, but the Nova Seeker contingent clung tight to one another making a nearly impenetrable circle of ceramite. They exchanged fire with the plague marines for a few seconds, felling a few more in the process. Bolter rounds cracked and exploded ineffectively off of the terminator shields and armor, creating a sort of firework display at the heart of the inferno that began to blaze around them. Xerxes’ formation was steadfast against the assault, however it would only be a matter of time before a lucky bolter round found a weakness in their formation. Fortunately, they would not have to wait for long, as their tactic had succeeded.

The plague marines had become so preoccupied with the delectable prospect of killing the chapter master they failed to support their first wave, and likewise had not noticed the fire had burned through the poxwalker and plague bearer battle line. The hoards of shambling corpses were helpless, their bodies reduced to cinders in the unrelenting heat of the firestorm now raging before them. The remainder of the terminator army was closing the distance. Though the Death Guard still greatly outnumbered the Nova seekers it appeared Xerxes’ theatrics had caused enough disruption to turn the tide.

The Plague marines began to regroup closer to their own terminator force allowing the Xerxes’ personal bodyguard to recede back into the main fighting line. The two groups blasted volley after volley at one another, with the Death Guard scoring a few fatal blows. However, it suddenly became clear that the fire served a second purpose other than simply burning away the first defensive wave. The smoke now concealed the much smaller Space Marine fighting force, and as the flames blazed toward the Death Guard contingent their leader had realized that they were surrounded by a wall of smoke and fire. For all intents and purposes they were totally hidden by the inferno. Cavill finally understood the machinations of the Chapter Master. He was but a cog in a much grander scheme. Every piece of the mission, every decision was made with perfect, clinical intent. Any deviation could spell failure, and because of that there was no need for Cavill to know more than what he needed to.

His focus shifted once again. Each of the fireteams that were originally positioned at the various outposts had begun their operations as well. Anubis in particular had begun clearing a path to the vehicles at the center of the encampment. It was an expertly orchestrated plan, and seeing it come together so elegantly filled Cavill with envy, but respect. If only it were he conducting these raids. If only he were born to wear the armor of the noble terminator. If only it were he that had been selected to raid one of the smaller outposts. If only. He turned again to the main conflict. The plague marines had become unfocused and disorganized. Between the surprise attack, the burning fields, and the smaller raids on the outposts their discipline was beginning to waver.

The plague marines and death guard terminators fired blindly into the firestorm, praying that they would strike a lucky blow. The space marine army carefully observed their enemy and responded with several measured volleys of their own bolter fire. Occasionally they would ask from the cliffside units to call out targets, though Cavill never responded. He didn’t need to as the others were able to give ample information about target locations. One by one the plague marines began to fall, and their formation was becoming looser with each loss.

It was at this time the Death Guard’s commander had witnessed enough. He lumbered to the front of his forces, readying his axe as he did so. His gaze was fixed solely on Xerxes, who likewise matched his hateful glare. Both armies halted their attacks as the commanders marched towards one another. Though the symphony of war had softened, the occasional echoes from the outpost raids dampened the silence. The two stopped but a few meters from one another. They appeared to be talking, but Cavill could not ascertain what they were discussing. Perhaps the Death Guard sought to surrender? No, such was wishful thinking. It would only be a few moments before their reinforcements arrived and the Nova Seekers would be hopelessly outnumbered. More likely was that they were exchanging banter about the fight that was to come, or laying out the rules for their duel. If only Cavill could be there. The desire to fight clawed at him. He was becoming restless and frustrated, but he was a good soldier, and good soldiers followed orders.

The two commanders drew their weapons and entered their fighting stances. Xerxes wielded his sword in one hand, pointing the blade at the Death Guard commander, and in the other his combi plasma. The hulking lord of contagion clutched his greataxe with both hands and hoisted it’s blade over his shoulder. The two circled each other looking for an opening, occasionally adjusting their stance in response to the other. Xerxes would shift the angle of his sword ever so slightly, and the Death guard would match. This process would play out over and over again. It was likely that this duel would come down to a single blow. Both armies stood silent as they watched the walts play out before them, the rhythmic and hypnotic pattern of their footfalls drawing in their focus. Even Cavill became entranced with the display, so entranced that the world around him faded away and his focus narrowed only to the Chapter Master and his foe. How he yearned to be where the Chapter Master stood. How he yearned for the fight. But such was not his fate. Not this night.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Vox crackled to life in Ramo's ear and the calm voice of the chapter master spoke. "Begin the attack." Before Ramos could react to the order he heard the distant sounds of bolter fire from the fields a few kilometers away. During his briefing he recalled Lieutenant Ramses mentioning that the chapter master had devised some sort of diversionary tactic to draw attention from their objective, though at the time he was unsure as to how that tactic would manifest. He mulled the thought over; taking special consideration the sheer volume of fire he could hear in the distance. It was unlikely that they were able to sneak in so many soldiers, even under the cover of night, and he saw no drop pods nor heard the engines of any transport craft. It was even less likely that an airborne unit had been deployed given that one of the targets for this raid was an anti-aircraft battery. This left only one possibility: terminators. A diversionary assault with a massive firepower. It was a bold move, though not necessarily the one Ramos would have made were he in the position to do so. Perhaps that boldness was what separated fresh blood like himself from those who had ascended.

The cultists keeping watch were startled by the sudden break in the silence and were becoming uneasy. They shifted uncomfortably in their positions and began to erratically survey their surroundings, terrified of what may have lurked within the wheatgrass. Ramos glanced over to the rest of the fireteam. Two scouts, a reiver, and the Lieutenant, now wearing a mark VI powered armor pattern. Their focus was trained on their enemy. Like a pack of lions they stalked their prey who would be all but helpless once they took their opportunity to pounce. They would have only one opportunity to surprise their enemy, and they would not waste it; for once the fighting commenced their foes would flee to their allies. It would be then that the real fight would begin.

"Weapons free!" Ramses ordered followed by a hail of bolter rounds that washed over the cultists standing guard reducing several of them into flailing heaps of viscera and blood. Those remaining fired their autoguns wildly into the grass to no effect. The concealment had worked as few of the projectiles actually made contact with any of Fireteam Anubis, but those that did deflected ineffectively off of their armor. The reiver was first to spring from their hiding spot, unholstering his grapnel gun, firing it atop one of the garages, and zipping to the point all as one fluid movement. His camo cloak against the moon likened him to a vengeful spectre whose sole motive was to bring judgement and terror to the heretic. Several of the cultists saw the cloak fluttering in the moonlight and fled screaming in the opposite direction. Those who didn't were slain by the second volley.

On a different rooftop the plague marine overseer had noticed the reiver's movement and reacted by firing several bursts of suppressive fire in his direction, but the space marine was prepared and had slipped behind a communications dish before firing a few blind shots from his bolt pistol in return. The death guard began to close the distance with a measured advance, continuing to fire off a burst of bolter rounds with each few steps before ducking behind cover of his own. After the first skirmish the reiver did not return fire or change position, but instead he patiently bided his time for the opportune moment to make a counter attack. Seeing that his foe would not return fire the death guard marine broke into a sprint and leapt across the rooftops and stuck the landing with a meter to spare. Upon his landing the reiver fired off several more rounds, but all were glancing blows. The plague marine began to chuckle as he reloaded. He continued to lay down suppressing fire as he advanced across the open rooftop, intending to keep the Nova Seeker pinned long enough so that he could blast him away at close range.

He reloaded his bolter one final time as he rounded the communications dish and took aim. However, before he could find his target he found himself inexplicably blinded. The plague marine scrambled to identify the cause and was surprised to find that it was a large piece of fabric that had been thrown onto his helmet. The reiver's camo-cloak! He grabbed at his helmet to pull it off, but the reiver's deception had proven successful as he drove his combat blade through the camo-cloak and deep into the plague marine's skull. The hulking figure staggered a few steps and collapsed backward off the garage, landing on a scout bike that was sitting just below, utterly crushing it beneath its hulking figure.

Meanwhile, Ramos, Ramses, and the scouts took up positions outside of one of the garage entrances. The scouts prepared a breaching charge while Ramos scanned the streets with his auspex for incoming reinforcements. He could hear the shouts and footfalls of more cultists incoming, but they were still a minute off as they had not registered yet on his scanner. "Charge ready," one of the scouts reported. "On your mark sir." Ramses readed his bolter and motioned for Ramos to stack up behind him. Ramos complied.

"On three." Ramses said, nodding to the two scouts. They each crouched down on both sides of the door frame in preparation to blast it open. "One." Ramos inhaled, clutching his rifle with nervous anticipation. "Two." Ramses paused to listen as he heard movement from the other side of the door and Ramos noticed a ping on his aspex that had not been there initially. Before he could react the door exploded open, knocking the entire team into the streets. Had the breaching charge malfunctioned? No. Ramos scrambled to his feet and raised his bolter to meet the new threat. Scattered around him were the scouts and Ramses, still coming to their senses, but in front of him stood a creature, wearing some approximation of terminator armor. It's entrails and flesh hung loosely out of the many gaps in it's armor, and it wielded a crude flail-like weapon. Noxious fluid drained from it's flesh and it coughed a wet, guttural, croak with each exhalation. It's eyes bared down with a hateful gaze at the young astartes much like how one would glare at an insect that had just bitten them. Ramos clutched his bolter and prepared for his next move.

He snapped it into position and began to pour fire into the terminator. Thuunk thunk thuunk thuunk! The rounds pounded away at it's hulking form, but did little to leave any considerable damage on it's armored carapace. It began to swing its flail over its head in preparation to crush Ramos under its girth. Ramos rolled out of the way, landing just under the creature's left side. The weapon embedded itself deep into the ground where Ramos had once stood, leaving a sizable crater from it's impact. The scouts had regained their footing and were beginning to fall back. Ramses, however, remained prone still dazed from the initial attack. Ramos fired another burst into the creature, but again it seemed unfazed. It turned and swung its weapon in a wide arc just short of Ramos' position. He took several retreating steps back towards the garage before noticing that the breaching charge was still intact. This gave Ramos an idea.

The blight lord terminator took two more steps towards the young space marine before being interrupted by another barrage of bolter fire from the scouts and Ramses, who had regained his footing. This distraction provided ample time for ramos to grab the charge and rush towards the lumbering terminator. It noticed and swung once again, but Ramos was prepared and had side stepped it just enough to avoid taking the blow. He positioned the charge on the terminator's torso. Enraged it released its weapon and grabbed ahold of Ramos' shoulder in an attempt to restrain him. Ramos squeezed the detonator and blasted off a considerable piece of the terminator's breastplate, forcing it to release it's grasp. Ramos fell back several steps, unloading a stream of bolter rounds into the terminator's now exposed chest. It's flesh exploded into chunks of rotten gore as it attempted to pursue Ramos, but this was a futile action as the space marine's plan had succeeded. With one final wail it fell to its knees, slain.

By this point cultists had returned accompanied by three additional plague marines. They began to pour fire into Anubis's position. With the garage now open the space marine fireteam ducked inside for cover, but one of the scouts was gunned down in the attack. Upon reaching the building Ramses reached into his holster and produced a hand flamer. He motioned for the rest of the team to fall back deeper into the building and take cover. The scout was easily able to hide behind a workbench, but Ramos had some difficulty fitting behind anything large enough to provide ample cover eventually settling behind the now gutted frame of what appeared to be a chimera transport. Ramses took up position just behind the door frame, out of sight of the attacking enemy force. He readied his hand flamer, awaiting any who would be bold enough to enter. Fortunately, he did not have to wait long.

The first to arrive were a handful of cultists led by one of the plague marines. They were met with a torrent of fire as Ramses sprayed the flamethrower onto them. The cultists immediately dropped to the ground, writing in agony as their flesh melted from their bones. The plague marine was stunned by the surprise, but still alive as it attempted to lunge towards Ramses. Ramses retaliated with a bone shattering kick to the plague marine's leg, it tumbled to the ground before being met with a second kick to it's head. Ramses ejected the fuel canister while delivering the finishing blow and crushing the plague marine's skull beneath his boot. More cultists poured into the room, though this time they were downed by bolter fire from Ramos and the scout. Ramses counted the bodies as he loaded another fuel canister into his hand flamer. Seven cultists, and the plague marine made eight total killed.

He whipped around the corner, spraying another stream of flames into the hoard. "Behind me, men!" He ordered as he waded into the burning cultists. To his surprise the plague marines were not rushing into the building as expected, but were locked in melee combat with the reiver. As Ramos and the scout joined up behind Ramses the formation of cultists began to crumble, now understanding how little their superior numbers mattered in the presence of the emperor's finest. Ramses unsheathed his chainsword and charged into the nearest plague marine, driving the blade deep into its back. He cried out in anguish as the spinning teeth of the chainsword turned his innards into a fine pulp. The last plague marine met a similar fate as the reiver overwhelmed him with a series of precisely executed strikes before slashing him across the throat. His screams were drowned out by the sound of the heretic choking on his blood before he too succumbed to his injuries.

The few remaining defenders were gunned down as they attempted to flee down the main road of the encampment. With the last volley of bolter fire the night quieted somewhat, only accompanied by the distant sounds of battle from the Chapter Master's attack force and the raids being performed by the other fireteams. Ramses approached Ramos. "Begin an auspex scan of the area. Be thorough as I do not wish to be surprised again."

"Yes sir." Ramos frowned. His scan should have picked up the terminator in the building, before it was able to attack them. Perhaps it was malfunctioning? Regardless, the blunder had succeeded in proving two truths to him. The first was that the Lieutenant would never be content with Ramos' performance regardless of what foe he slayed, and the second was that Ramos was either extremely capable or extremely fortuitous.

Ramses approached his remaining scout. "Give me your supply pack." The scout complied, pulling the hefty metal box off of his back and dropping it on the ground. Ramses picked up the pack and approached the dead scout. "Take our fallen brother's body to the extraction point and await our return. We will not be far behind you." The scout complied with a brief gesture of affirmation. Ramses activated his vox and began to speak again, "brother Cavill, I believe we have secured the objective. I am sending one of our scouts to the evac point with one of our fallen. Provide overwatch and see to it that he makes it there unharmed." There was a slight pause as he awaited response.

"Understood," Cavill replied.

"Brother Ramos," Ramses spoke again, "have you found anything?"

Ramos glanced back at Ramses. "Negative, all streets are clear." Ramses gave a sigh of relief. The most difficult part of the operation was over. He approached the remaining members of Fireteam Anubis and opened the metal box revealing several melta bombs. Taking one in each hand he began to address the remainder of his team.

"Affix these to any transport vehicles you find in the depot. I will take care of the bikes myself. You have ten minutes. After that, we leave whether you have planted all of the bombs or not. Understood?"

"Yes sir," the two replied as they took as many melta bombs as they could carry and dispersed to the rest of the encampment. Ramses turned to face a larger building with open doors. Inside were twelve heavily modified bikes outfitted with several heretical flourishes including crude decorative spike, pikes with human skulls impaled on their tips, and lines of text written in the profaned and forbidden language of the chaos gods. It was a shame to see such fine artifice defiled by the unholy taint of the warp. Ramses found it revolting. He could not fathom what would compel one to desecrate their wargear as such; other than to offend for no and spite the great imperium from which they were born. It was a symbol of ignorance and hatred for humanity. The very idea that one could turn against their kind was unfathomable to Ramses, to betray your brothers was the most egregious sin, and the traitor legions would forever be unworthy of forgiveness. Judgement would come for them. They would be cleansed in holy flame, for flame was the only baptism that could wipe away such an abominable transgression.

He began to place the charges, carefully measuring the distance of the blast so that it would leave all twelve of the bikes inoperable. With one final surveyal of the room he left the building to meet up with the rest of the team. A few moments passed before they returned with the empty storage box that had once contained the melta bombs. Each gave a brief report of their findings, where the vehicles were, and how they had planted the bombs. They had succeeded and Ramses was proud, though he would never say it. All in all the mission was wrapping up to be a resounding success, and they had taken fewer casualties than expected. Though, the single loss weighed on him.

Death was an inevitability in war. No matter how perfectly executed a plan unfolded there would always be casualties. Ramses knew that it was fruitless to blame himself or even to chastise the others. No one could have prevented this death, but that did not make it acceptable. Such was his burden. The overwhelming weight of leadership and all of the failures that would accompany his duty. Though, it was not without reward for he had seen potential in those who he led. Ramos still had yet to be forged completely, but the metal was there. He had killed a mighty foe, and though he had not yet earned Ramses' respect, he did deserve some recognition. Ramses approached the remains of the terminator and knelt down beside it. There was a sigil denoting its rank. He removed it from the remains and called Ramos to his side.

"Brother Ramos, come to me." Ramos complied. He averted his eyes from the lieutenant as he braced for another scolding, though Ramses did not notice. "You killed a mighty foe today, take this as a trophy of your triumph." Ramos was shocked. Before he could speak Ramses continued. "We do not have the luxury of time, and I do not wish to hear any excuses or false humility as to why you do not deserve this victory. You will take this as a trophy. It is yours, and there is no shame in reveling in your triumph." Ramos nodded and took the sigil. "To overcome the odds is what it means to be a space marine, this is proof that you are capable of doing as much. Do not settle for just this one, I expect to see many more in the years to come."

"Yes sir." Ramos clutched it in his hand. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps the lieutenant would come to respect him some day. Ramses stood and gestured east.

"Our time is up, if we do not leave now we will miss our passage back to base. Quickly men!"

"Wait!" Ramos interrupted. Ramses turned with newfound disdain in his eyes.

"Are you questioning my orders brother Ramos?" Ramos raised his hand in protest.

"No sir. We just need to blow the charges still, if we wait until we get to the evac point we will be out of range." Ramses was stunned and slightly embarrassed. He had been caught up in this ritual with Ramos that he had nearly forgotten the final objective. How could he be so careless? Without a second thought he squeezed the detonator switch resulting in several explosions erupting from all around them. The encampment was not ablaze and torn asunder, and the mission was truly complete.

"Let us go," Ramses said as he turned to leave. "There is no time to waste."

"Aye sir, let us go."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Xerxes had no intention of victory in this duel, and it was clear that he was grossly outmatched. The battle between the Nova Seeker’s terminator detachment and the Death Guard’s defense force continued to rage around him as the firestorm consumed the fields in an ever growing torrent of holy flames. Visibility was poor, the heat was relentless, and he could feel himself succumbing to fatigue. At first the battle seemed to be somewhat even, with the chaos lord holding only a marginal advantage with his size and reach, but as they continued to engage in clash after clash he could feel the fickle winds of war blowing against him. His foe swung again and again with his massive axe missing only by the smallest of margins. Xerxes struggled to find any sort of opening, but closing the distance would likely prove fatal. This lord of chaos was indeed mighty, and the heretical power he had been granted by his vile god of death made him a fearsome adversary. The chapter master would need to have patience should he wish to survive this fight. However, patience was becoming a commodity he would struggle to maintain as his frustration was building with each ineffective clash. 

Xerxes fired his combi-plasma as he retreated from another incoming swing, but it dispersed ineffectively off of his foe’s armor. He would neet to attempt a new strategy. If he was unable to close the distance and deal a blow in melee, perhaps he could dance around his foe and deliver several stinging attacks at range. He fired again, but still there was no effect. The chaos lord laughed with jubilant vigor at his indestructibility, and Xerxes’ frustration continued to mount. Xerxes reminded himself that he only needed to stall for time, and as soon as his men had completed their objectives he could make his retreat. Another attack came as the lord of contagion charged with reckless abandon at the chapter master, causing Xerxes to leap backward into the flames, obscuring him for just a second. Now wrapped in fire Xerxes launched a counterattack, swinging his sword in a wide arc. His blade slammed into the paldron of his foe blasting off a chunk of ceramite from his opponent’s armor. He quickly returned to a defensive stance as the lord of contagion prepared another attack; this one appearing to be a heavy, overhead strike. Xerxes brought up his sword to block, but the attack was a feint and he was struck instead with a swift kick to his stomach followed by a smack to the top of his head with the butt of the chaos lord’s axe. He recoiled slightly as he stepped backwards once again. He could feel blood starting to run down his face; stinging his eyes and blinding him momentarily. Instinctively he stepped right and felt the wind of the axe just narrowly missing his head and scraping against his shoulder plate. Xerxes wiped the blood from his eyes and continued to circle his enemy.

The lord of contagion rushed him again provoking a response of bolter fire from the chapter master’s combi-weapon. The rounds exploded and crackled against the Death Guard commander, but he was still unharmed. Xerxes fired another plasma shot. Again fruitless. “Emperor guide me,” he prayed softly as he attempted to formulate his survival strategy. He continued to dodge and weave through each attack, and as he glanced about he saw that the battle at large seemed to be mimicking this duel. It was not unwinnable by any stretch, but it was quickly falling out of their favor. Several terminators collapsed around him while others retreated into the flames. Death Guards’ battle lines continued to press forward into their formation slowly surrounding the Nova Seekers formation. His attention snapped back to the chaos lord who was growing annoyed at Xerxes’ constant retreat. 

“Why run from a fight which you started?” The lord of contagion called out. “Was it incompetence or arrogance that brought you and your legions before me?”

“Perhaps both.” Xerxes replied with a sly irreverence. The chaos lord chuckled slightly.

“A sense of humor, eh? Such is rare among your kind. Though, I cannot commend you on your skills as a warrior or as a leader, I at very least will grant you some modicum of respect for your witty tongue.” Xerxes remained undaunted, though in some small way appreciated the sentiment. Perhaps if he could keep his opponent talking he may be able to buy more time to formulate a plan.

“You will commend me on more than just my silver tongue by the time this night is over.” He raised his blade to meet his foe. “Mark my words heretic, for before the moon sets you will realize what fury I will bring upon your men.” 

“Oh? Is that so?” The chaos lord replied. “Then I shall eagerly await seeing how you intend to bring your forces back from the brink of utter and total defeat.” He crouched into an aggressive, nearly primal stance. “Might I have your name, chapter master? I wish to know the name that I will curse after you defeat me.” His condescension was palpable, but Xerxes would humor him.

“I am Xerxes Nar-Qalb. Chapter master of the Nova Seekers,” he declared. “Heed it well.” 

“Delighted, Master Xerxes. I look forward to either mounting your head as a trophy or vowing vengeance on your name. I am Lord Neco Fortis.” Xerxes’ eyes narrowed, despite his unrelenting hatred for the traitor legions he could appreciate the civility which Lord Fortis had granted him. Despite his horrific and barbaric appearance, there was something noble residing within the pox ridden figure of the chaos lord. Perhaps there was a small ember of his humanity that remained aglow within the infinite darkness which now resided in his heart. Lord Fortis started to advance and Xerxes braced for another attack; however, he stopped suddenly as a new sound caught his attention. Several distant explosions echoed through the fields, and there was a slight halt in the action. Fortis’ eyes grew wide with sudden realization as his attention snapped back to Xerxes. His vox began to chatter, but he ignored the incoming calls. He had been deceived. This battle was but a diversion, and he had fallen for it. “Indeed, Xerxes. Your wit  _ is _ most dangerous.” Xerxes’ vox similarly crackled to life as the final fireteam reported a successful operation. In total two motor pools, two anti air batteries, and weapons cache had all been destroyed in the simultaneous raids. “I must confess, I would have never anticipated such a... how should I put this, roguish strategy from space marines,” Fortis continued. “You distracted us with just enough noise and gravitas to prevent us from realizing that your real objectives were our strategic outposts.”

“Your lack of foresight was precisely what I was praying for,” Xerxes replied. He keyed on his vox. “Terminators, initiate emergency teleportation.” One by one they disappeared into flashes of bright lights, leaving the remainder of the Death Guard forces confounded as to what exactly had just occurred. The chapter master gazed back at Fortis with an air of hubris. “There is a certain comfort that is granted by having the numerical advantage. I wished to exploit that comfort.”

“So you have. Shame on me for becoming so relaxed. I will remember this for our next bout” Fortis lowered his blade and spoke candidly to his opponent. “I suppose there is no reason to continue our duel. You may have this victory. I concede.” He bowed his head slightly in respect, but also disdain.

“The long war continues, Lord Fortis.” Fortis grimace. He wanted so desperately to kill Xerxes. To charge him in this instant while his guard was down and slaughter him while he reveled in victory. However, to do as much would rob him of the glory that he desired. He wanted a proper duel. This duel was little more than a diversion. Xerxes had disrespected Fortis as a warrior, by giving him the false pretense of an honorable and noble fight. It was dastardly, but it also made Xerxes a very enticing foe. This would not be their final meeting, merely an introduction.

“I suppose you are correct, Xerxes. Indeed, the long war continues.” He removed his helmet to reveal a face covered in pustules and horrific scars. Thin strands of coarse greasy hair ran down his scalp and a repulsive smile framed a series of brown, rotted, teeth. Xerxes was repulsed, though he understood the gesture. Fortis wished for Xerxes to see the face of the enemy he had outwitted, and moreover the man who would kill him. He wished to haunt Xerxes’ thoughts and disturb his rest. Much like a horrible virus he desired to consume Xerxes, to crawl beneath his skin, to whittle away his bones and sanity, and ultimately destroy him. Xerxes took several steps back as he activated his teleportation homer without breaking his gaze. They were locked for a moment in each others’ sight. They each considered the day’s fighting, the losses they had sustained, and the casualties they had inflicted. The war for Caspia would, in fact, be a long one. It would be costly for all involved. However, deep within Fortis’ gut he could feel a certain glee building. An excitement for what great battles would come. He hated Xerxes as he hated all who swore loyalty to the false Emperor, and yet he felt elated to continue their struggle. “I will kill you, mark that Master Xerxes. I will kill you.”

Xerxes remained silent, but gave a nod of defiance. Light began to flash and crackle around him and within an instant he was gone. Fortis stood alone listening to the cinders that continued to spread around him. The smoke rose high into the night sky and hung heavy as did his defeat. His men were still confused on what exactly had transpired and knew not whether they should cheer in victory or lament defeat. It was better that they remain confused. Fortis started back to the city in silence. Several of his captains surrounded him and proceeded to brief him on the battle at large and the losses they had sustained. But he did not care. He had learned all he needed to know from his duel. Another attack would come. The skies would soon echo with the roaring engines of Imperial bombers and Norfare would be reduced to ruins by daybreak. Without looking at his officers he gave a simple command. “Dig in and prepare for bombardment. Their attack has left us vulnerable to air raids. Keep your heads down until the sun rises. Then we will make our retreat.”

His captains were dumbfounded. “Are you certain, my lord?” One of the captains asked. Fortis did not grant him a look as he responded. 

“I am. They intend to fight this out. Our victory will come in time, but it will take patience. Patience and  _ death _ . Pray it does not come for you this night.” He keyed his Vox again. “This is Lord Neco Fortis, scramble interceptors and prepare transport back to the  _ Jaw of Victory.  _ We are retreating.” There was a momentary pause from the other end.

“As you command, Lord Fortis,” a gurgling voice replied. “What news do you bring from Norfare?”

“A momentary setback, I shall give a briefing upon my return. I believe we will need to change our strategy. These ‘Nova Seekers’ are more crafty than I anticipated.” Fortis could hear the approach of the Imperial airwing. No rest for the wicked. Such was the nature of this conflict, and he would not have it any differently. He would make Xerxes regret engaging him in this ‘long war’. Indeed he would make Xerxes suffer. Another Captain stepped into the conversation.

“My lord, I suppose this means that we will postpone our next attack?” Fortis returned his helmet to his head and peered into the horizon. A smile slowly creeped across his face.

“Yes, Captain. We will direct our attention elsewhere as I have a far more delectable target in mind. We shall discuss it upon our return to the  _ Jaw of Victory.”  _ The Captain nodded and gave a series of commands to the other soldiers to make their way back into the city. They had little time, but should they follow their orders to the letter, they would survive the night. __

Soon Lord Fortis was in his bunker, alone. The Imperial air wing had begun their bombing. Every few moments he would receive a transmission with reports on how the fortifications were holding. In short they were not. He would lose this stronghold, but such a loss would necessitate a far more creative approach to the escalating conflict. Yes, Master Xerxes had certainly opened Pandora’s Box. In due time they would have their duel, and the long war would continue. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Within the depths of the expansive library at the heart of the _The Ignis_ Xerxes sat alone with a vast pile of ancient tomes spread before him. He had lost track of how many days he had spent lost to the tapestry of history depicted in these ancient texts. The long war for Caspia had indeed continued following the raid on Norfare. They had beaten back the Death Guard warband, and had pursued them down the western shores of the northern megacontinent Volkun and across the narrow peninsula connecting to a smaller, mountainous continent located on the equator known as Gora. Similarly the combined forces of _The Ignis_ and the Imperial Navy had pressured the Death Guard’s _Jaw of Victory_ into a tactical retreat. During their last skirmish it had disappeared into the webway, abandoning several of its support vessels in the process. Their victories boded well for the war’s outcome and the forces of the Imperium felt that the end could very well be in sight. However, Xerxes was uneasy. 

He repeatedly surveyed the map of Gora, searching for any location for which he could attempt to gain a foothold. The Death Guard had chosen wisely in the location to make their stand as the terrain would prove more than unfavorable for any kind of frontal assault. Early reconnaissance had proven unfruitful, only elucidating what Xerxes already knew. The Death Guard were resilient, they had dug in deep, and dislodging them would be at best costly. This caused Xerxes great frustration, but being that there was little other option then to wait for a better strategy to present itself then he would need to be patient.

Over the past several days he had assembled his officers, chaplains, librarians, and even several of the commissars in command of the Caspian guard regiment in hopes that their combined wisdom would be enough to devise a solution to this problem. Unfortunately, nothing materialized other than more frustration. His men were becoming restless with the prospect of ending this war, but the creeping dread of whatever plan their enemy had devised was setting in. Xerxes was well aware that the Death Guard were at their best when they could bide their time. The slow, creeping stagnation of Nurgle only increased their power with each passing sunset, and the men knew it. There was a growing anxiety within his ranks, and though the usual bravado that accompanies victory was still present the cracks were beginning to show. All involved were growing impatient, and with good reason. The Emperor had granted them momentum so why shouldn’t they use it? Xerxes did not wish to bring a glorious suicide upon this world and upon his men. Attacking now, without a way to effectively punch through the mountains would bring only defeat.

Xerxes’ grew further concerned in whatever would come from the webway. He had soundly beaten back the  _ Jaw of Victory,  _ in nearly every engagement, but he knew that when it returned it would not be alone. Perhaps this was Fortis’ plan all along. To allow Xerxes the illusion of victory only to stall him out until he could be crushed in one, decisive attack. There was no way of knowing what his enemy would do. Their pieces had been completely removed from the board and there were limitless possibilities on what they could be planning. Perhaps, they would gather reinforcements and attack with overwhelming strength of numbers, as they had attempted in their initial invasion. Perhaps, they would never return and would leave their men to fester and eventually perish. Perhaps they had something far more elaborate in the cards. It wasn’t fair, nor honorable but such was the nature of chaos. It was ironic really. In a way they had turned his own tactics against him; using deception to baffle his men and forcing them to jump at shadows. So many layers of deception to consider, and an unknown but ever shrinking timeframe to find a solution.

Yet, despite all of this, he could feel the cogs turning in his mind. These days reading had not been wasted as he was beginning to see the image forming, though it was not yet there. He needed a spark to bring it to light. Only a spark. But it could not be just any spark. A plan so bold and unexpected required a commander of a certain disposition and battlefield philosophy. 

“Master Xerxes.” A voice startled him. He snapped up from his reading to see Lieutenant Ramses standing across from him with a somewhat befuddled expression. He bowed his head in reverence as he spoke. “My apologies if I have disturbed your study, I was simply surprised to find you here as well.” Xerxes raised his gaze to meet his subordinate. A slight smile crossed his face as he gestured for Ramses to take a seat.

“You have disturbed nothing,” he replied. “Perhaps it is best that I have company. I am beginning to grow weary of these endless pages. It will do me some good to rest my eyes and mind for a moment.” Ramses sat across from him and eyed the piles of books. He said nothing, but his expression was inquisitive, and somewhat skeptical despite having no clue as to why the Chapter Master had spent so much time alone in the library over the last week. This doubt shrouded as curiosity was not lost on Xerxes. Ramses was older than most of his brothers. He had served the chapter well in his many decades of service, but Xerxes was truely old, nearly 700; and with this age came a certain patience and appreciation for the wisdom found within the long history of the Imperium. Swift and decisive action tended to resonate better with his kin, but what they often failed to recognize was that the ability to direct their focus which manifested from years of careful study and discipline. “You disapprove?”

Ramses quickly stiffened, embarrassed. “Of course not,” he replied, “merely curious. Perhaps ignorant.” Xerxes gave a slight chuckle as he slid his book away to one of the piles.

“Your face betrays you,” Xerxes teased. “It is understandable that you would be so cautious. We have a war to win, and here I am, nose deep in the decaying pages of these dusty, old, books. Perhaps I am wasting time that would be better suited to mounting another attack, ehh? Yet I sit here, isolated like an old hermit, cut off from the world and my men.” Ramses was still somewhat ashamed. Not of his doubt, but that he let it show. It was not his place to criticize the Chapter Master. He was a superior and moreover he was wiser than Ramses. Ramses respected this wisdom above most other things. “I am at an impasse Ramses. I wish to liberate Caspia, but I do not wish to signal the downfall of our chapter.”

“I am not certain as to what you mean, Master Xerxes. You have led us through many victories over this campaign, that would hardly be a  _ signal of our downfall _ .” Xerxes inhaled deeply as he composed his thoughts into words. His red eyes twinkled as he processed his response. He sought not only to educate, but also consult. None were so far beneath him that he should not seek their counsel. 

“The Nova Seekers are a young chapter. We were founded by the Storm Giants, who were founded by The Salamanders. We are a successor to a successor, which feels baffling. Our gene-seed is impure and thus we hardly resemble our Primarch. I often feel that this dilution of our bloodline severs us from our own history in a way. We are but a shadow of the Salamanders, and though we can observe them with reverence, we must craft our own identity.” Ramses was still somewhat confused why this mattered, but tracking the Chapter Master’s line of thinking would nonetheless prove informative. “Our history is short, and we have been largely untested; as such we must seek the battles of those who have come before us, and pray that they give us guidance.” This much Ramses understood. The Nova Seekers had often filled support roles in the various battles they had taken part in. They never led the charge. They were always assigned to wait until needed, which felt rare. In fact, the Caspian War seemed to be the largest conflict they had been involved with as anything more than strategic reserves. “Ramses, why do we seek our own eternal sun?”

Ramses was caught somewhat off guard by the abruptness of this question as it was something he had not considered since his youth. “We seek greatness, and glory so that through our light others may rise.” The Chapter Master’s smile widened, his thoughts tossed back to Ramses’ trial. In all of these years he had not forgotten his answer. Xerxes raised his hands in a wide inviting gesture, palms out towards the lieutenant before closing his fingers into a loose fist and closing his eyes.

“It is truly humbling to hear the answers given by each of our battle brothers, for though we all say it differently, we all reach such similar conclusions.” He picked up another book from one of the piles and began to casually thumb through it, his demeanor changing significantly. “Ramses, I will be frank. Should we attack the heretic’s stronghold in Gora it will spell disaster for all of us. They are too well rooted, and though we could eventually prevail, it would leave us weakened and vulnerable to counterattack.” He thumbed to another page when something caught his eye, but he continued speaking. “A large contingent has fled, I expect they will return, but as to how and when I do not know. This is the trouble with conducting a war of this scale, you see. They have seemingly infinite places they can hide and allies they can call upon. We have numerous allies, certainly, but there is a fine line between numerous and seemingly infinite.”

“I suppose you are correct.” Ramses replied. “So what will you do?”

“That is the trouble of it, Ramses. I don’t know.” He flipped another page when suddenly a thought occurred to him. He gazed at the Lieutenant from across the table, considering his words carefully before he spoke. “Ramses, how does one prepare for the unknown?”

“I’m not certain, sir.” Xerxes shifted in his posture, relaxing as he continued to read.

“Let me rephrase the question then.” He said. “How would  _ you  _ prepare for the unknown?” Ramses pondered the thought for a moment. It was such a broad question with so many answers, all or none of which could be correct. The thought stirred over and over again in his mind. How fascinating. “It’s a real conundrum isn’t it?”

Ramses smiled slightly, “you are correct. It is indeed. I understand your situation now.” He considered the question. The very concept of the unknown was not unlike the concept of infinity. It encompassed all things he did not understand, and should he learn more and grow in his wisdom the dark cloud of unknowing would still be infinite. Even when applying this conundrum to the war on Caspia, it did little but put Xerxes’ struggle into perspective. “We do not know where our enemy has fled, and we do not know what they do within their mountain fortification. We are trapped in an infinite loop of ignorance.” He paused again as he attempted to make sense of it all. “It would be as if we were playing a game, but our opponent is using invisible pieces.”

“So what would you do?”

“I suppose-” he paused again, hesitant. “I suppose I would do something unexpected. I would force them into a state of unknowing to even the odds. If we cannot anticipate or even see their movements, then why grant our opponent the advantage of predictability?” Xerxes chuckled slightly. “I fail to see the humor in my response.”

“It is not your answer that makes me smile, but rather that  _ you  _ are the one that gave it.” Xerxes held his thumb in one of the pages to hold his place. “Of all of those who I have asked that question, you are the only person to say that you would enact such a plan.” Ramses nodded with some understanding. “You see Ramses, of all of the Nova Seekers you have proven yourself to hold the Codex Astartes closest to your heart. You know that within its pages contains a plethora of stratagems and protocols for nearly every situation, and yet, you would toss it to the wind and devise your own plan? It is amusing!” Ramses supposed there was truth in this statement.

“Certainly it is amusing.” He replied. “However, any Space Marine worth his weight in coin knows that the Codex Astartes is not meant to be sacrosanct. Our Lord Commander never intended for it to be as such.” 

“Aye, such as it is.” Xerxes turned the book around to show the lieutenant. It appeared to be an old star map depicting the locations of various battle sites from an old crusade. “Ramses, are you familiar with the Betelgeuse conflict?” Ramses considered it for a moment, but ultimately it was unfamiliar to him. The Chapter Master continued before he could utter a verbal response. “It was an interesting minor crusade. You see there was an uprising in the Betelgeuse sector some 1,200 years ago. Several small, unrelated heretic cults started springing up all over, and before any sort of response could be developed they had soundly established a foothold. However, there was a slight problem.”

Ramses settled in his chair as he prepared to see where exactly this story would go. “Go on.”

“Each cult was totally devoted to their own form of worship, to their own gods, and they wished to enforce their rule over the others. And so within a few months they had devolved into complete and total civil war.” He turned the page, this time revealing the sigil of the Storm Giants. “Our founders had been dispatched to quell the insurrection, which they did with relative ease. The cultists were so disorganized and so caught up with their own infighting that they stood hardly a chance against the might of the Storm Giants.” He turned the page once again and continued to survey the pages. “There was one complication, however. In the final days of the crusade they found an old cache of relics and ancient artifacts, predating the Horus Heresy. Now, high command directed them to return the artifacts to Terra, but they were ambushed upon departing, and the ship disappeared.” He closed the book. “Quite the tale, eh Ramses?”

Ramses was growing weary of this game the Chapter Master was playing. “With all due respect, I fail to see how this correlates with our current predicament.” Xerxes’ expression remained jovial, but now with a slight taste of roguish intent. He leaned forward as if to share a great secret with his subordinate. His eyes flickered red with cunning enthusiasm.

“I think I may have found it.” Ramses inhaled with surprise, but his expression immediately shifted to confusion.

“Found what? The lost ship?”

“Yes, purely by accident or coincidence, but I think I may have narrowed it down to one of three worlds.” Ramses started to speak, but was interrupted as the Chapter Master continued. “It was assumed that the ship was destroyed or stolen, however the wreckage was never found, and no vessel matching its description has been seen since. Others think it may be lost in the webway, but I doubt as much; for you see one of it’s artifacts has resurfaced. An ancient combi-weapon known as the Cobalt Dragon.”

Ramses’ was intrigued, though he still failed to connect the tale to the predicament on Caspia. An ancient piece of artifice could prove useful, in the right context. But it would not turn the tide of a war. “This is all very interesting-”

“But you are uncertain as to how it can help us.” Xerxes’ smile had grown into a wide grin. Ramses for all of his cunning and guile had fallen into his proverbial trap. “How  _ unexpected _ that I would bring it up given our current circumstance. A lost cache of artifacts is such an  _ unexpected  _ discovery, wouldn’t you say?” Ramses’ eyes widened with affirmation. The Chapter Master was beginning to get through to him. “The Cobalt Dragon was sold to a member of the administratum a few hundred years ago and had been passed around as a gift. In all that time its origins remained a complete mystery. In fact, I am certain that I am the only person who has realized what this weapon even is and where it came from, as the woman who currently possesses it doesn’t even know it’s true name.”

“How are you certain of all of this?” Xerxes stood from his seat, now towering above Ramses. He stacked another series of books and pushed them across the table for the Lieutenant to see. Ramses cautiously removed the top book from the stack and began to scan it’s pages.

“Simply by chance. It was barely a footnote, yet it continued to appear again and again in the old texts as it belonged to one of their captains. It’s description was familiar to me, but I could not place where I had seen a weapon matching its description. That is until I saw this rendering of it.” He manifested a piece of paper that had been folded into another one of the massive books. On it was an ornate sketch of the weapon. It was elegant; covered in carvings of great winged beasts and gothic script. “Ten years ago I was dispatched to provide a parade detail to its current owner. Now I know it was our Emperor’s will.” He handed Ramses one final piece of paper, this with a list of planets and trade routes throughout the Imperium. “The owner has provided me with the name of the trader who procured it, as well as the worlds he frequents. I think in a few days I may be able to find our missing ship. The relics aboard could provide the added firepower we need to overtake this Death Guard warband.”

Ramses was overwhelmed and confused as to what all of this meant. “Sir, do you intend to go and procure these relics?” Xerxes smile reached its apex as he began his response.

“No.” He said. “I intend for _ you _ to procure it.” Ramses snapped to his feet in protest.

“With all due respect, sir, I cannot abandon the mission at hand to go gallivanting across the-”

“You will do as I have commanded, Lieutenant!” Xerxes demeanor had immediately ignited. Ramses shrunk and retreated back a step. “Your duty is to the Nova Seekers and to the people of the Imperium. These weapons will turn the tide in our favor. Without them I assure you that the war will be lost.” He circled around the table separating him from his subordinate and approached him. “You have one day to assemble your team. You will not protest again, for if you do I will have you marked for treason.” Ramses gulped at this prospect. The Chapter Master was serious. “I do not have time to argue about this, and you don’t have any time to lose. I will let the captains know that you will be pulling soldiers for a special assignment.”

Ramses nodded. “Very well.” He stared up at Xerxes. “Sir, how long have you been planning this?”

“Not long at all, though I have lost all sense of time since I have been here.” 

“That seems rather-” he hesitated, not willing to invoke his commander’s wrath again. “It just seems a bit unexpected.”

“That’s the idea, boy. In fact, it was your idea. Your words were what inspired it, and you will see it done.” Ramses felt a sense of dread fill his chest. He had inspired this plan? Had the Chapter Master completely lost his mind? He ran through the scenario over and over again, and as he worked through it he could see the twisted logic. Perhaps it wasn’t the best option, but it was certainly not something their enemy would expect. In this way it was an effective strategy, assuming they were successful.

“Who should accompany me?”

Xerxes pondered this for a moment. “Consider the question that I posed to you at the beginning of our conversation.” He replied. “How would you prepare for the unknown?” Ramses nodded his head. “Any who provide the answer that you gave, or anything similar will accompany you.” Ramses nodded again. “If our entire chapter says as much, then they will go. If no one does, you will travel alone.” He approached Ramses and placed his hand on his shoulder. “This assignment will take a special kind of soldier to accomplish. Only those willing to consider the insane or outlandish will be able to bring back our prize.” He smirked, “I think you have the perfect balance of insanity and wisdom to lead such a team.” 

“Aye sir.” He gave a quick salute. “I may not entirely agree, but I trust you. You have not led us astray thus far.”

“Good to hear, Lieutenant.”

“Should I also procure transport for this mission?” 

“No,” Xerxes responded, “I will arrange for all other aspects of your journey, you needn't worry about how you will get there, only who you will bring.” Ramses nodded one last time.

“As you command, Master Xerxes. I will see it done.” 

“One more thing, Lieutenant.” Ramses stopped and turned.

“Tell no one of your assignment until you have your team assembled, I do not wish for word to get out.” 

“Understood. It will be kept secret until the time comes.”

“Excellent, may the Emperor guide you, and may you know no fear.”

Ramses snapped a salute before turning to exit the library. Xerxes relaxed a bit before returning to his chair. He keyed on the vox and called for the communications officer. A young voice crackled through the other end.

“How may I be of assistance, Master Xerxes?”

“Patch me through to the commander of the Caspian defense fleet. I need to borrow one of his ships.”

“It shall be done.” The vox then went silent. For the first time in days Xerxes noticed the cold quiet of the library. Though he could feel the reverberations of the engines rumbling in the decks below, he could not hear them. He could not hear anything. It was a crushing silence. He reached back for another one of the books and began to read. The plan was in motion, and much like his enemy, he would need to be patient and wait.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Ramses relaxed back into the command seat of the viper-class scout sloop  _ ‘Wayfare’ _ . The accommodations were rather camped within the bridge and though a command chair capable of accommodating the size of the Astartes had been installed before their voyage from Caspia, Ramses was comically out of place sitting among the naval officers of the Caspian scout auxilia. He had elected to wear a simple, but comfortable, tunic while inhabiting the ship. His hopes were that this would somewhat ease the tensions of the bridge crew who were now being overseen by something of a demigod, rather than their usual commander. His attempts had proven nearly fruitless as though his stature was somewhat diminished with the lack of his powered armor, he still towered over the bridge crew as an adult would tower over children. The ship’s crew compliment did little to hide their fear. Years of indoctrination had conditioned them to respect, but moreover fear their superiors. A commisar alone could command respect by the end of a laspistol, but a commissar was only a man. Ramses was more, and thus the fear was multiplied exponentially. 

He stretched his neck from side to side. The quarters provided in this ship were satisfactory, but far from ideal. None of the Nova Seekers had complained, of course, but he could feel the confined quarters beginning to irritate him, and he could only assume that the others were feeling similarly. He understood that traveling in an imperial navy ship as opposed to one from the Nova Seekers’ fleet did grant some advantages in regards to maintaining a low profile. However, it did leave them vulnerable if they were attacked by a pirate looking for easy prey. How unfortunate for them would it be to discover seven astartes as part of the ship’s complement. Woe indeed. 

Of the seven space marines deemed worthy Ramses was pleased to know that two members of his fourth company would be joining him. He was somewhat unsurprised that Ramos was ‘deemed worthy’ of this mission as his unusual personality gave him the natural inclination towards the strange and unorthodox. However, it was the other member of the company that surprised him. Brother Cavill.

Ramses could not deny that Cavill had a rather impressive combat record. During the several operations he had taken part in those around him had reported that he was a natural soldier, no, a natural warrior with a proclivity towards leadership. Brother Cavill carried himself with a certain sense of nobility not seen since The Great Crusade. He held the Codex Astartes close, and yet he understood his limits. If he did not have the dark, ashen skin, and deep eyes of ember, he may have been mistaken for an Ultramarine or an Imperial Fist. However, fate would deem him most fit for the Nova Seekers, and perhaps that was for the best. Cavill’s enthusiasm for this operation shocked Ramses. Though Ramses was able to follow the chapter master’s reasoning for sending their detachment on what he felt was a wild galavant across the Imperium in search of what he could only describe as ‘buried treasure’, he could not process why Cavill seemed so enthused to join him. Ramses was loyal to Xerxes, he trusted Xerxes, but this endeavor was lunacy. Surly Cavill knew this, but yet here he was. 

_ “All warfare is based on deception, sir”.  _ Cavill’s words repeated in his head.  _ “The asymmetry of information is what determines whether a battle is won or lost, no matter how small. Should you conceal a knife in your cloak, then I will conceal a sword, and should you conceal an axe behind your back, then I will hide a grenade behind mine. Ultimately, neither of us have any way of knowing what we hid within our cloaks or behind our backs, but the victor will be he who assumes that he conceals the greater weapon regardless, the victor will always strike with the confidence that they know something their opponent does not. However, it does help if one does, in fact, carry a deadly weapon. What is more unexpected? The bluff that is a lie or the bluff that is true? There is no greater misdirection than the truth. Asymmetry allows for infinite possibility.” _

His thoughts then shifted again to Ramos as he began to mull over the display marking worlds that the weapon’s cache were likely to be located. Ramos had given a rather similar answer, but in a starkly different tone.  _ “The unknown? You mean in regards to the Death Guard Warband?”  _ Ever so literal.  _ “Or just as a principle? How to combat the unknown. I am unsure. A moment to think on this, if it pleases you.”  _ He recalled that Ramos had taken a long pause before speaking again, there was a look in his eyes that he was exploring every possible outcome, as if he could see every pathway through a hypothetical and purely hyperbolic question. After a few seconds his eyes sparked with discovery as he provided his answer.  _ “If faced with the unknown, I would make myself much the same. Act without knowing, act solely on instinct and betray my natural inclinations. Such is the most probable way to find success in such a situation.” _

Such curious answers indeed. He assumed this was how the Chapter Master felt when he asked the same to Ramses. “Navigator, how long until we reach our first destination?” The navigator winced under the weight of Ramses’ powerful bark.

“Another day, or so,” the navigator replied, shrinking within his seat.

“Or so?” Ramses raised an eyebrow. “Why would you say that with such uncertainty? Is there a complication causing the delay? Explain.” The navigator nervously swiveled in his seat to face Ramses, but he did not look him in the eye as he spoke.

“Are you familiar with this sector, sire?” He asked sheepishly. Ramses did not respond,but shook his head while continuing to glare down on the navigator. “The-erm-Moab Prime, has a reputation for- um- piracy. I thought it best to take a more conservative route.” Ramses stood from his chair and approached the navigator’s station, his hulking figure only inches from the ceiling. The navigator inhaled, anticipating a scolding as he looked up at the displeased expression carved into Ramses’ face. “I can adjust the course if you-” Ramses cut him off with a swift, cutting, hand gesture as he began to look over the navigator’s screen.

“You will make no such adjustments. Helmsman, stay our current course.” Ramses drew in for a closer look at the navigator’s display. “Our assignment requires a certain degree of discretion and expertise in navigation. You have chosen our course wisely, navigator.” The navigator relaxed and color began to return to his face. Ramses gave the navigator a sincere, but somewhat awkward smile as a symbol of a job well done. The navigator nodded in recognition, though there were still notes of fear in his disposition. Ramses pulled back from the station and looked out to the rest of the bridge, immediately silencing the room and halting all activity. “Contact me should anything arise,” he said, “I am retiring to my quarters.” The bridge crew snapped a quick salute before returning to their duties. “Keep up the good work.” 

The crew hesitated for a second before giving a surprised, but grateful, “thank you sir.” He turned towards the door, gesturing for a servator to come to his side. 

“Fetch me information on Moab Prime, I wish to know as much as possible before we make landfall. I want maps, recent transactions, financial reports, mining operations, everything you can find within reason.”

“As you command.” The servitor replied in a metallic, non-emotive tone. 

“Excellent. Now, off with you.” The servitor hurried away as Ramses continued down the corridor to his quarters. He keyed on his vox-caster, “Scout Sergeant Vulpes, I wish to speak with you about our upcoming operation on Moab Prime. Meet me in my quarters immediately.” There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. “Scout Sergeant Vulpes, do you copy?” A few seconds passed before the sound of clattering metal and rushed shuffling 

“My apologies, Lieutenant, I was performing maintenance on the bikes. Nearly dropped the engine block when you beckoned me.” Ramses rolled his eyes at the scout’s reply. “Regardless, I can be there momentarily.

“See that you are.” 

“Yes, affirmative sir.” The sound cut out as Ramses reached his quarters. Much like the bridge there had been hasty refits to accommodate the ship’s new commander, though they weren’t entirely necessary, aside from the chairs surrounding a rectangular table which to a standard human would have been rather large, but for Ramses was just small enough to require him to hunch over should he need to inspect something placed on the table. He took a seat and began to thumb through the book that the chapter master had given to him. It was a history book detailing the Chapter’s accomplishments and heraldry, but more importantly it included clues as to where the ancient weapons may be located.

Moab Prime was the only hive world located in the Betelguese sector, and though it had a high population, it was rather small, only half as massive as holy Terra. As a hive world it seemed to be stricken with all of the common ailments plaguing nearly all of the hive worlds in the imperium. Gangers, piracy, poverty, and diseases were rampant, however the planetary governor had found a most perplexing solution to the dilemma, which seemed to be working at least superficially. On the southern hemisphere of the planet was a massive crater, nearly 50 miles in diameter that she had declared ‘Zone Zero’. Inside this area no law enforcement are present, and without the watchful eye of the Arbites crime is effectively legal. Curiously this crater was not always a part of this world’s topography, appearing nearly 1,200 years ago after a comet came crashing through the warp and wiped out an industrial zone. A comet indeed.

The door opened as scout sergeant Vulpes stepped through offering a quick salute after crossing the threshold. His hands and face were covered in grease, no doubt as a result of his mechanical tinkering. “Sir,”he said with casual respect. 

“Have a seat, sergeant.” Vulpes complied and began eyeing up the room around him. “I will be brief, once we reach our destination I will be deploying you to begin reconnaissance operations. You will have to go alone, you will be lightly armed, and you will need to be in disguise. Your goal is to infiltrate Zone Zero, and gather information as to the whereabouts of our weapons cache.” Vulpes inhaled through his teeth. “Do you see a problem with this directive?”

“Permission to speak freely sir?”

Ramses gave a dismissive wave with his hand. “Granted.”

“I’m not certain how I can articulate this, but I will do my best.” He paused for a moment and tapped his fingertips together in a pensive gesture. “I- hmmm-we are not- no.” He gave a deep sigh. “I think you overestimate my ability to ‘blend in’ as it may be said. Certainly at a glance no one would think anything of my appearance. However, I am too sensible of my defects to what I am  _ not _ capable of.”

“Get to the point sergeant.” Ramses scowled, though he had a feeling what Vulpes might be getting at.

“I’m-” he paused to collect himself, “we are not the same as them.” He gestured in the direction of the ship’s bridge. “I may look like them, I may sound like them, but ultimately I am not. I have lived a different life, totally divorced from common people of the Imperium. If you wish for me to infiltrate their cities, their lives, their culture; you will find that they will see me for what I am.”

“And that is?”

“An imposter.” Ramses leaned forward in his chair, propping his arms on the table in front of him, fingers laced.

“You think you would be discovered?”

“Most certainly. Furthermore, if I were to deploy ‘lightly armed’ as you put it, you will find that I will not return alive.” Vulpes shook his head. “I do not fear death, sir, but I do fear a pointless death. Were I to not return from this assignment it would be for nothing.” Ramses gaze did not break. He did not blink. He only gave a long exhalation through his nose in displeasure. “I am merely being realistic and honest. When you recruited me to this assignment, I researched this planet. I know what we are going to face, and with all due respect, I can assure you that I know a great deal more about it then you do. There will be no intelligence gathering.” Ramses nodded with disappointment, he was aware that this could be a possible outcome, but he did not expect Vulpes to be so blunt.

“Then what would you suggest, sergeant?” Ramses rose to his full height in his chair and gestured with an open palm to Vulpes. “Share what you have learned.” Vulpes stood from his seat and began to pace for a brief moment before stopping just to the right of the table.

“If there is a weapons cache from a crashed ship it is most certainly in Zone Zero, that much we likely agree on. However, given the wealth that may come from such relics’ existence it is likely that this is a closely guarded secret known only to the most powerful forces within the zone. Any attempt to garner information from the common rabble would be a waste of time and energy.” Ramses nodded his head in affirmation.

“I see.” 

“Furthermore, even if I were to blend in with the commoners, which I assure you I would not, what good out that be? I may be able to get the location of a ganger hideout, or something of that nature, but then I must gain their trust. What then? Do I work my way up the ranks of a hive gang and become some sort of capo or enforcer or do I start my own gang? I could spend a lifetime here in search of these answers, only to fail. Sir, we are both aware that time is of the essence. Such an operation would be fruitless, I assure you that as for our initial planetfall we are capable of knowing everything we will need to know for the time being.” The room hung silent for a moment as Ramses processed this information. Vulpes was right, and his experience in the Deathwatch had proven valuable, as he knew it would. Ramses stood and approached Vulpes before placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Keep talking, but accompany me for a moment.” He led Vulpes back into the main corridor and the pair began walking towards the rear of the ship. 

“Of course sir,” he replied, but before he could continue the two were intercepted by a servitor carrying a datapad. It handed the pad off to Ramses who scanned it as the two continued down the hall.

“Keep speaking, I am listening,” Ramses said. 

“Yes. Like I was saying, I understand that we need to have a certain degree of discretion while on this assignment. Even the few resources we are dedicating to this operation are precious when we have the greater war effort on Caspia to consider. However, we are The Emperor’s chosen few, the Astartes, discretion is not exactly something we are capable of in this situation.”

“Are you suggesting that we should ignore subtlety?”

“No, not in the slightest. Blasting the zone from orbit or deploying an invasion force would be too blunt a strategy even if we had the capability to do as much. My point is that we need to utilize what we know to be our most valuable assets. We are warriors, so we should approach this as warriors.”

“Interesting.” Ramses grunted. “I think I may have an idea.” He turned the datapad around so that Vulpes could read it. “Take a look.” Vulpes’ nodded with affirmation as he began to read through the information.

“It appears the Governor is a collector of ancient artifice. Most peculiar.” He continued to read through the information provided. “Do you think she has been purchasing from the gangers living in the zone.”

“No, not necessarily.” Ramses replied. “I do not think she would be so reckless. She is probably buying them from a third party. However, I believe she is aware of the origins. No one un-lobotomised could be so ignorant as to not know that they have a massive supply of valuable weapons on their planet. What better way to hide this than to make the zone totally absent of the prying eyes of Imperial law?” The two crossed a threshold to the ship’s cargo hold. Inside contained a line of three, raider pattern bikes, a scout bike, a rack of chainswords and bolt rifles, and at the end the sleeping dreadnaut carapace of the venerable Brother Dormine. “I think she discovered a way to solve two problems at once. The gangers get to battle it out in their own lawless land and make some extra coin. Meanwhile, she gets to purchase whatever they find for a fraction of what it would normally be worth.” 

“Assuming that one can put a value on something so precious,” Vulpes grimaced. “She knows not how carelessly she has crossed us.” Vulpes was getting angry, but Ramses placed a gentle hand on his shoulder once again.

“Patience brother, there will be time to deal with the Governor. The war for Caspia is far more pressing than the selfish misappropriation of our holy relics.” “Do you think it would stand to reason that any excavation operations would be at the center of the crater?” Vulpes smiled a sly grin.

“Oh, most certainly.” Ramses gestured for Vulpes to return the data pad to him and he keyed in another command. This time several images taken from orbit of the zone appeared. At a glance it appeared no different than how any other hive city may look from orbit. But as Ramses zoomed closer to the center of the image he and Vulpes could see that there was a massive complex of some kind, blanketed in thick, black, smog. Vulpes spoke again after dissecting the pictures. “These images nearly settle the matter. There is some kind of operation going on at the crater’s center.” Vulpes paused again as he considered this information. “So how do you think we should proceed?” Ramses gestured to the line of bikes and smiled.

“With speed.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

There is something unstoppable about the sight of two astartes barreling down the long neglected roadways of an imperial hive world atop steeds of steel and power. The thundering roar of the raider bikes deafened those unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Brother’s Ramos and Cavill attention was totally transfixed on their assignment: reach the center of the zone, find the weapons (should they actually exist), and kill any who had sullied them with hands unworthy. Ramses had been clever in his deception, sending an imperial landing craft to meet with the local regiment to negotiate for supplies, while adjusting their flight plan to fly into the edge of Zone Zero and drop Ramos and Cavill who would make the remainder of the journey on their bikes. The governor had not suspected a thing. However, time was of the essence as once they began their raid on the central hub of the zone it was likely that the governor’s generosity would swiftly run out. 

Hive worlds were not known to give a high standard of living to those with the displeasure of resting within their bosom, but it appeared that the zone was left to rust and rot as a world consumed by the hellish forces of Nurgal, like Caspia would become should the Nova Seekers fail to drive them from the realm. However, this rot was not one of pestilence, but rather a rot of the soul. The foulest instincts of man had been brought forth into this forsaken land, and perhaps it would be best were it left to die. Occasionally Ramos would spy a curious urchin attempting to catch a glimpse of the pair, though the second that they were noticed they would vanish thinking that they had flirted with death and remained unscathed. They were unimportant to him, and though Ramos was aware how rare the sight of an astartes was to the common dregs of the hive worlds he did lament the decay that had befallen the Imperium. Perhaps one day he could return to this place, or a place like it, not as an agent of conquest, but as a healer or architect of mercy. Such thoughts were foolish of course as it was not his lot in life to build, but to destroy.

“It’s a pity, is it not?” Cavill’s voice inquired through the comms. “I have heard that the hives were in a poor state, but to see it with my own eyes is rather disheartening.”

“Indeed, my thoughts dwelled in the same place, brother.” Ramos responded. “One would think a governor would take more pride in their posting. It seems rather apathetic to simply shove as much poverty and destitution into one place and pretend as though it were not there.” Cavill gave a morbid chuckle from the other end of the vox.

“Oh how wrong you are! I am under the impression that she does not pretend that it doesn’t exist, but rather that this ‘zone’ is the solution to all problems in the Imperium. Give the rabble a hole to sort itself out, and it will.”

“Were it only that easy,” Ramos spat out. “I suppose I would not be so cynical, were she not filling her coffers with the treasures of the zone.”

“Aye, that she is.” He pause again before letting out another chuckle. “You know, she may have solved the problem of poverty. I’m sure that if our weapons cache is here, then those doing the digging are being quite handsomely compensated for their discoveries.”

“Perhaps,” Ramos was disinterested in how well compensated the people of the zone were, only that the very sight of it made him ill. “This place is a monument to everything amiss in our realm. Praise the Emperor that at least one of his sons has returned to bring order. Clearly the administratum is incapable of adhering to their responsibilities. It will take a Primarch to recover what has been lost.” Cavill gave a cursory glance over at Ramos before returning his attention to the road. “This place is little more than a cancerous growth, it is a symptom of a far greater illness.”

“You would see it destroyed then?” He snorted. “Better to cut it out and burn the wound than to let it fester.” 

“No.” Ramos responded in a slightly indignant, but also measured tone. “I’m not certain what I would rather become of this place. Such things are beyond my understanding. All I can see is that the Imperium is suffering, it’s people are suffering. It brings me to great despair to see those we were created to protect living in such squalor. The Emperor did not want this, and yet...” He trailed off as something caught his eye down the road. The two were coming up on a long bridge which arched across a massive heap of debris. They could see dozens of smoke columns billowing up in the distance, likely small settlements and ganger camps. Distant sounds of gunfire echoed from all around them, though the bulk of noise emanated from deeper in the zone. The deeper they explored the less likely it would be that they could avoid a fight before reaching the central complex. The two slowed to a halt as they reached the bridge, though surprisingly it appeared that the road split into two separate paths. The first was the bridge itself which arched over the massive field of ruined buildings which upon closer inspection was framing a massive ramshackled city, bustling with people. The second route descended into the great maw of this city and appeared to then split off into smaller pathways creating a labyrinthian ghetto.

There would be no easy way across as the bridge was the foundation for some sort of fortification. A massive fortress with high walls built from scrap metal and vehicle parts was erected right in the center of the bridge. Cavill raised his oculus bolt carbine in an attempt to get a better view of the fort.

“What do you see?” Ramos inquired.

“Little more than an inconvenience, but an inconvenience all the same,” Cavill replied. “Definitely a ganger camp, perhaps the settlement beneath is under their rule. By my count there are two or three dozen guards posted on the walls, and I would wager that the garrison inside dwarfs that by a factor of four or five given the size. They aren’t armed with anything particularly threatening, autoguns and stubbers primarily, but I would be unsurprised if they were to have something with a bit more bite were we to approach.” He lowered his bolt carbine and slung it back over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

Ramos pondered the thought for a moment. Cavill was correct, a ganger camp would not be of any concern were they not on a time constraint, however driving through the settlement below could present its own challenges. There would likely be enforcers there as well, and given the labyrinthian layout they may spend just as much time in navigation as they would just punching through the fortress and crossing the bridge.

“Were we to attack the fortress directly,” Ramos spoke, “we would be totally committed to fighting that battle. I have no doubts that it would be an easy victory, I am not sure that we have the ammunition to complete our assignment.”

“I was thinking the same,” Cavill replied. “Though it is a rather dull prospect I suppose it would be most beneficial to drive through the settlement below, and avoid the fight all together.” Ramos hesitated for a moment before returning his hands back to the handlebars of his bike.

“What would you do should we encounter resistance?” Ramos inquired.

Cavill snorted with disgust, “as much as it pains me to say so I would recommend that we should retreat should we encounter any hostility.” He leaned forward and began to shove off. “Though I doubt they would be so stupid or so bold to provoke an attack.” This sparked an idea for Ramos.

“Perhaps, there is another solution, though I am unsure of how effectively we may be able to conduct it.” Cavill turned to look at Ramos head on, cocking his head inquisitively.

“Oh, and what might it be?”

Ramos shifted, now feeling a bit uncomfortable in his armor. “We could- simply ask to pass through. I am certain they are also aware that a fight with space marines would end in a massive loss of life, and thus resources. They do not wish that. These people are not accustomed to being so profoundly outclassed. I think they would fold were we to apply even the slightest pressure in the right way.” Cavill remained silent for a moment before chuckling a deep, genuine laugh.

“You really believe that we could just ask, and they would let us through? That is quite humorous.” Cavill didn’t entirely think that Ramos was serious, and by all rights he shouldn’t. However, Ramos considered the thought again before replying.

“Yes, yes I do.” Cavill let out a deep exhalation at the realization that his partner was not jesting.

“You’re mad.”

“How so?”

“Because these people are unreasonable!” Cavill bit out. “Because they aren’t sane.”

“On the contrary, I think that they are every bit as sane as you or me. I think that though they may be prone to barbarism, they only do so because it is their best chance at anything resembling prosperity.” Ramos rested the chin of his helmet between his thumb and index finger in a gesture of deep thought. “Worst case scenario we are back to fighting our way through the fort and we have lost only a little time.” He looked at Cavill again. “However, I will not do anything unless we agree. If we try to negotiate then we must both commit to the plan until it goes awry. If we fight, then we are in agreement that there is no other way.” Cavill took one last look through the oculus before returning Ramos’ gaze.

“We will try to reason with them, however I will not take my finger off the trigger,” Cavill replied.

“Excellent.” Ramos returned his hands to the handlebars of his bike and pushed off with Cavill in tow just behind him. They began to cross the bridge. Like the rest of the city it was in ill repair, however it was sturdy. Scrapped remains of vehicles littered the road, many still blazing from their recent destruction. Hundreds of bodies were sprawled out amongst the debris, mostly gangers and mutants, though there were others which appeared to be unarmed. The unfortunate casualties of a lawless and dying world. They weaved through the cluttered mess as they made their approach. Cavill noted that they had definitely attracted attention as there were another fifteen or so who had gathered at the top of the wall. Curiously, they did not open fire. Ramos brought his bike to a halt and gave a salutary gesture before stepping off.

“Greetings, I am Brother Ramos Archimedes of the Nova Seekers. My brother Cavill and I seek to pass through your territory.” Ramos’ voice and demeanor was rigid and artificial, his voice fluctuated with an asymmetry that indicated nervousness and false nobility. The gangers mumbled amongst themselves, Ramos could see that they were clearly shaken at the sight of two astartes and pressed on. “I can assure you that none of you will be harmed, as your presence here is unrelated to our assignment.” The mumbling continued. Cavill was growing impatient, but he allowed Ramos to continue his negotiations. “Is there a complication?” One of the gangers pulled out a vox from a satchel slung over his shoulder and spoke inaudibly into it before shaking his head in affirmation to whatever came from the other side. “We are under a time constraint, and would like to not be delayed any further.” Ramos could feel himself starting to shrink as felt that he was losing control of the situation.

“Yes, erm, my liege,” the ganger replied in a weasley tone. “My boss just wants to come and get a look at you first, it will only be a moment.” He squirmed uncomfortably as he looked down at the super soldiers below. “You see, it’s just that none of us is ever seen a real life space marine a’fore, and  _ I’m _ pretty sure you is telling the truth, but, the boss wanted to see you hisself.” Cavill scowled beneath his helmet, and Ramos could feel the pressure of his frustration.

“How long do you think he will be?”

“Probably only a few minutes.” Cavill stepped forward past Ramos.

“He had best hurry, as every minute wasted is more precious than your meaningless lives.” Cavill was through waiting. The gangers all recoiled upon hearing this new voice. “When a space marine demands passage, you do not ask for approval, you do not hem and haw about what to do. You let them through.” His statement hung in the air for a moment as the gangers went silent. Ramos rested his hand on Cavill’s shoulder. “Am I understood?” The lead ganger fiddled with his vox again, unsure if he wished to contact the boss again. Cavill’s glare alone could have killed the ganger should he have had the intention to do so.

“Patience, brother, these few moments would be worth the wait when we do not have to waste our energies on this rabble.” Ramos held on the word rabble for a bit longer than he should have. It felt foriegn to say it, and he felt almost ashamed to be so demeaning towards the imperial citizenry. Certainly he was an astartes, but perhaps if these gangers had been gifted a different start, they too could have been. Cavill turned up his nose and stomped back over to his bike. Ramos looked back up to the gangers, realizing a new tactic. “I will warn you, that if this is a ruse to stall us I will not be able to control my partner. He would rather see all of you dead and this place burned. I am only offering you this option as a plea of mercy. I am being benevolent, and I am certain that my kindness will be rewarded.” There was more mumbling from the gangers, the lead ganger once again pulling his vox out of his satchel and saying something unheard into it. The intimidation had worked.

“The boss is almost here. I swear we ain’t trying to fool you at all. We just gotta be sure is all. Boss would be awful upset if you were lying.” 

“I understand your predicament, but again, time is of the essence and we grow tired of waiting.”

“Right, right!” The ganger replied. “See you sound like what a space marine is supposed to sound like, and you look like what they is supposed to look like, but I ain’t ever seen one. But the boss swears he has, so he would know best.” 

“I suppose.” Ramos too was growing impatient. His experience with the citizenry of the Imperium was limited after he became a space marine, but his experience with the underhive was totally non-existent. Perhaps his plan was foolish. Perhaps it was time wasted, but he was committed to it, at least for the time being. 

After another moment there was activity at the top of the wall and the gangers began to spread out making way for a tall, heavily augmented man clad in black, padded armor. Both eyes had been replaced with biomechanical receptors and where his lower jaw once was a poorly constructed and ill-fitting speaking apparatus. Over his shoulder was slung a las gun, modified with a long scope and decorated with a series of gang markings. He looked down at the pair as he gestured for the other gangers to give him space. 

“Greetings,” he said in a mechanical, though still somewhat refined tone. “My apologies for the delay. I was not anticipating that we would be receiving such esteemed visitors.” His body dipped into a bow. “My name is Atrax, and I am the ruler of these lands, so to speak.”

Ramos and Cavill did not return the bow, however Ramos did respond with similar decorum. “It is a pleasure, Atrax. We are Brothers Ramos and Cavill, of the Nova Seekers.” He gestured up towards Atrax. “As we were just explaining to your subordinates, we are on an assignment that does not concern you or your- lands. However, your fortifications do impede our path. We wish for passage through.”

“Yes, yes I understand.” Atrax replied. “This much was explained. I simply wished to negotiate your safe passage myself. My men are hardly accustomed to such tasks, you know.” He motioned at one of his men, who responded by bringing him a large, almost throne like, chair. Atrax lowered himself into the seat, and adjusted himself into a comfortable position. “I will allow your passage, as we are all aware of what consequences would occur should I not. I have no death wish.” Cavill’s jaw dropped somewhat, Ramos’ scheme had actually worked. 

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Ramos said. However, there was something in Atrax’s body language that left him uneasy. Cavill could sense it too. Despite the circumstances, Atrax exuded an aura that he was still in control of negotiations. Not Ramos and Cavill.

“I simply have one request,” he spoke again.

“You are in no position to be requesting anything,” Cavil barked. “The conditions of our arrangement are that you let us pass, or we will raze this eyesore to the ground!” Atrax gestured again with his hand up in a surrendering motion.

“Peace, noble space marine. It is not a condition, merely a polite request. A showing of goodwill, nothing more.” He returned his arm to a resting position on his lap. “I was just curious as to where you were going. Perhaps, I could offer other assistance.” Cavill and Ramos looked at each other for a moment in solidarity before returning their gaze to Atrax. “I know this realm and its people quite well. I am also aware of the dangers of the zone. It would be unbecoming for me to not offer any assistance.”

“You can assist us by staying out of our way,” Cavill bit out again. “Our assignment is none of your concern.” Ramos held up his hand to silence Cavill, who begrudgingly complied.

“Your concern is noted, and appreciated, Atrax. However, our duty is ours alone. Our purpose is of the utmost importance, and thus requires a degree of secrecy. Surely you understand.” Atrax rose in his chair a bit before calling one of his men over. He whispered something to him and the man disappeared behind the wall.

“I understand completely,” Atrax said. “I shall press the issue no longer. You are free to pass. I have instructed one of my guards to open the doors for you.” Ramos and Cavill relaxed somewhat. No blood would be spilled yet. “The zone only becomes more hostile the deeper within you travel, so be wary. Though, I suppose most will choose to avoid a battle with you, just as I have.” He slowly rose from his chair as the doors began to open. “However, should you go deep enough you may find that there are-how should I put this- groups more dangerous and established than my little fief here. You should be sure to shoot them before they get a chance to shoot you.” Ramos and Cavill both mounted their bikes as Cavill looked back up to Atrax.

“Oh? I suppose these wouldn’t be rivals would they?” Atrax’s posture shifted in a way that indicated a mischievous delight.

“Perhaps.” He turned his back to the pair to leave. “However, my rivals could present a threat to you that I may not be capable of\\. Just know that they may have access to tools more suited to proper warfare than I, and more men as well. I’m just looking out for your wellbeing. As a gracious host.” 

“I will keep that in mind, Atrax.” Ramos cut in. “Your hospitality today is appreciated. Perhaps, someday we may be in a better position to return the favor.”

“Perhaps, though I wouldn’t count on it. You space marines are awfully busy doing important work. I am just content knowing that I could offer some assistance in my own way.” As the gates opened fully Atrax disappeared and several men returned to their postings. The two astartes began their cautious advance into the encampment. Cavill’s assessment was right. Inside were probably just over a hundred men within all carrying poorly maintained and grossly out of date autoguns. There was no fight to be had here, were they to have resisted, it would have been a blood bath. The buildings were all horribly built and offensive to the eyes in their sheer brutality. 

The gangers all gawked as this was the first, and very likely the last, time that they would ever have the honor of seeing a space marine. Despite the danger that the pair posed, they were still inspiring to the people of the Imperium. Even among the dregs and human debris of Zone Zero they brought something akin to hope. No ganger started down the path of villainy without reason, and should the Imperium of Man one day return to its former glory, so too could the lowest of its people return to the safety and comfort beneath the protection of the Emperor and by association the protection of the Adeptus Astartes. 

As the gates closed behind the pair Ramos fixed his attention once again toward their destination. Cavill glanced over at his ally before revving his engine.

“Onward?”

“Onward.” Ramos and Cavill both shot as they crossed the final leg of the bridge. “You see Cavill? I told you the people of the Zone were more reasonable than what you assumed.” Cavill chuckled in response.

“I suppose so.” He paused for a moment considering his next words gently. “However, I think your soft heartedness for the rogues and rabble is unbecoming.”

“Oh? And why would you say that?” Ramos already knew the answer, of course, but he wished to hear Cavill say it.

“Your decorum was not needed, we were a threat enough in our own right. Why exchange pleasantries if you are already aware that they did not wish for a fight.” Ramos smiled in his helmet.

“In a way I think you have a correct assessment. I am aware that I lack a certain authority. I’m certain they would have not taken me seriously were I alone.” Cavill cocked an eyebrow. “Fortunately, you were there to provide the authority I lacked.” 

“So you are saying that was all part of your plan?”

“In a sense.” Cavill could tell that Ramos was quite proud of himself. “It takes all kinds, Cavill. We all have different skills and they can all fit into a greater plan.” The two adjusted their course slightly to avoid some rubble as they rattled along the roadway. “You see I am not terribly gifted in authority. Perhaps one day, but not now. You however, you are a natural commander. You take charge. You know what you need, and you know how to inspire both adoration and fear. I envy that.” Cavill was somewhat surprised to hear this.

“I appreciate that, brother.” Cavill pulled back on the accelerator and passed Ramos by around half a bike length. Ramos maintained his position. “However, by your omission, it takes all kinds. Best you didn’t envy me. If you are correct, and I think you may be, we need men like you as well.” Ramos dipped his head slightly feeling something akin to embarrassment.

“You flatter me, Cavill. I shall do my best to accept the commendation.” 

The two continued down the road for several kilometers. Atrax was right. The deeper they went the more carnage from the skirmishes within the Zone became far more malicious. The distant gunfire seemed to always be just around the next corner. They would need to be cautious, as Ramos was certain that Atrax’s warning was sincere. The wreckage slowly transitioned from poorly retrofitted buggies and bikes, into old, though proper, guard vehicles. Whatever lurked within the zone was dangerous, and well equipped enough to make Ramos doubt the Lieutenant’s judgement in only sending him and Cavill. There would be danger ahead, and they would need to be prepared to face it.


End file.
